


Plan B

by Drenagon



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Complete, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2019-10-21 05:36:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 85,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17636924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drenagon/pseuds/Drenagon
Summary: Plan B: an alternative strategy; a contingency plan, devised for an outcome other than the expected plan.Or, sending an unqualified temp to act as Thorin Oakenshield's PA because no one qualified can put up with him.(He'd say they can't meet his standards. Of course he would.)Meet Bilbo Baggins. He just became Plan B.





	1. Alternatives

**Author's Note:**

> General note, because it has come up on my other stories: if you are going to bookmark this story with a detailed description of the plot for your own reference, please make it a private bookmark. No one likes spoilers, ladies and gentlemen (at least, the author doesn't. She'd prefer people had to read the story to find out what happens!)

Chapter One: Alternatives

‘And for Mahal’s sake, Dori, tell them to send someone competent this time or we’re ending the contract! The next few months are vital. I can’t afford to have some idiot fucking it up!’

The door to Thorin’s office slammed shut, a rather impressive feat considering all the doors at Prospect Publishing were meant to be designed to be soft-closing.

‘So, Uncle’s in a good mood then?’ Fíli offered wryly, stepping through the door on the other side of the room and leaning against the wall. All the better to make a quick escape should Thorin re-emerge with a forgotten instruction and catch him there.

Prospect’s main offices took up the fourth floor of this building, with Thorin’s office in the far back corner. To reach his office, you had to traverse this room, with his PA’s desk placed solidly between the main door and his own, providing a first line of defence against random droppers-in.

It was a system that would work perfectly, if they’d been able to keep a PA for more than five minutes since Mum had taken ill and been forced to take a sabbatical. No one else could keep up with Thorin, or even seemed to want to, and Fíli had made his way around to Thorin’s office after watching the latest temp exit the building with red eyes and a distinctly put-upon glare a few minutes earlier.

‘Ms Allenya chose not to read the instructions I left about which calls were considered urgent and should be prioritised,’ Dori said wearily. The poor man was already grey at 40, which Fíli quite frequently pointed out to Balin as evidence that he was working him too hard. Balin inevitably argued that it was a consequence of being Nori’s older brother instead. Currently, Dori was sitting, slightly slumped, at the other main piece of furniture in the room, a small table next to the window which could seat three or four people. ‘She informed Thranduil Oropherson’s PA that Thorin couldn’t take his call because he was on lunch. The email that Thorin received as a consequence was… pointed.’

There was a long pause as they all considered the effect that would naturally have had on Thorin’s temper, considering the deal they were currently trying to broker with Woodland Online.

‘Ugh, I’m beginning to think I should just do the job myself,’ Dori moaned. He sank forward to put his head in his hands and added, ‘I might be able to manage it if I never slept,’ at the same time that Balin indignantly declared, ‘Don’t you dare throw me over for Thorin! This whole business would collapse.’

‘We’d have better luck if we weren’t looking for temps,’ Dori reminded Balin, though he sounded tentative. Fíli didn’t blame him. He could feel himself tense even as he saw Balin do the same. ‘Not permanent,’ Dori hurried to add. ‘I’m not saying permanent, but even fixed-term contract might get us a better pool of candidates.’

‘We can’t, Dori,’ Fíli countered gently. ‘Uncle won’t hear of it. Mum… Mum loves this place and she’s doing really well now. He doesn’t want her to be ready to come back and then find he owes someone another three months on their contract before he can make it happen.’

‘Dís would understand,’ Balin pointed out. ‘She knows Thorin’s foibles and the demands of this job better than anyone.’

‘I _know_ ,’ Fíli replied, holding his hands up in surrender, ‘but Uncle won’t discuss it. We tried. _She_ tried.’ Fíli contemplated what he was going to say next, eyed Thorin’s closed door and then moved to shut the door to the PA office too. Once he was sure they wouldn’t be overheard by anyone whose discretion he couldn’t trust, he continued. ‘He’s a lot more shaken up by this than he’s letting on, you know. After losing Nan and Granddad like that, then our Dad, and then Uncle Frerin a few years ago. Mum getting sick really frightened him. I don’t think he can think about anything that suggests she might not get well soon and come back, no matter how much sense it makes.’

Dori sighed, but it was a sigh of fond resignation rather than exasperation.

Dori had spent a lot of years sighing at Fíli and his brother. They’d learned to interpret the whole range of sounds.

‘Alright,’ he conceded. ‘Alright, I’ll go back to Greyhame one more time. If the next person they send does as badly as the last,’ it looked as if he was counting mentally, ‘five, then I’ll have to try somewhere else. Perhaps Imladris instead, although no doubt Thorin will bite my head off for that as well!’

‘He will not,’ Balin says firmly. ‘If it comes to that, you’ll send him to me. I’ve told you it’s not your job to deal with him when he’s being stroppy. You only have to deal with me. One stroppy executive at a time, Dori.’

Dori finally cracked a smile, Fíli was relieved to see, and hauled himself out of the chair. Fíli pulled the door open, let him go through and then followed him out, with Balin close on their heels.

Before he headed off in search of lunch, Fíli took a moment to offer up a prayer for whichever poor fool was sent to occupy the room next.

Mahal guide and protect them.

***

‘You want me to do _what_?’

Bilbo eyed the agency’s senior recruitment consultant (possibly it’s _only_ recruitment consultant, goodness knew he’d never seen anyone else) and, once again, seriously contemplated whether he’d signed on with a raving lunatic.

Yes, he knew it wasn’t uncommon for agencies to send in people who were only loosely qualified for roles, because it meant they got paid. He’d heard plenty of stories from people he’d worked with and for at this point. But still…

Him.

PA to the Director.

Gandalf had to be kidding!

‘Gandalf, I have exactly six months’ office experience, all of it gained in jobs you’ve given me,’ Bilbo protested. ‘Reception work, data entry, _filing_. I… I’ve watched the PAs at some of these firms. This isn’t a 1950s film; they aren’t there to get the tea and coffee! I’ll fall flat on my face in an hour.’

‘Really, Bilbo, my boy, I think you underestimate yourself,’ Gandalf said in a placating manner. Oh, he must be desperate. Usually he’d be much less genial and much more scathing about Bilbo turning down paid work. ‘You have your degree. As you say yourself, here on your CV, that proves that you can prioritise, manage deadlines, write fluently, have exceptional attention to detail….’

‘Yes, but that’s all _lies_ , Gandalf,’ Bilbo interrupted, thoroughly frustrated. ‘Everyone writes that nonsense on their CV and half of them don’t even know what it means. Writing something and actually doing it are very different things.’

‘Then let us hope that you are in the half that both understands the terms and can put them into practice, yes?’ Gandalf countered, pushing his glasses up his nose, and _there_ was the steel that Bilbo had been expecting when he began arguing with the man. ‘Bilbo, I have sent Prospect every experienced PA that I have on my books and each one of them has been rejected for one reason or another. For a few of them, based on the reports I have had from both sides, that reason was laziness. They’ve become used to doing minimal cover and found themselves caught out when Mr Durin did not accept minimal cover. I have been having strong words with those in question about their relationship with this agency. For the rest, it was harder to decipher the problem, but I suspect that it was Mr Durin’s caustic tongue. Both of those issues led me directly to you.’

‘Do enlighten me,’ Bilbo invited, stung by Gandalf’s increasingly harsh tone and his air of pointing out the bleeding obvious. Bilbo did not appreciate being treated as if he was stupid. ‘How did a demanding, bad-tempered diva automatically become my problem?’

‘Because you have a history of facing demanding, bad-tempered divas without backing down for an instant,’ Gandalf replied, and now his tone was very amused as he gestured at himself. Bilbo had the good grace to blush. His first interview with Gandalf had been… lively. Gandalf’s small staff teased him about it every time he had to come into the office. ‘And every report I have had from every job you have taken for me makes it clear that you do not believe in coasting along. You get involved in your work and do it to the best of your ability.’

‘Not much point doing anything else, is there?’ Bilbo said, slightly embarrassed. ‘No one’s going to invite you back again if you just sat on your rear end and played on your phone the whole time you were there.’

‘Exactly,’ Gandalf agreed softly. Bilbo gave him a questioning look, slightly startled at the sudden change in tone. ‘Bilbo, Prospect are one of my oldest and most faithful clients, but they made it quite clear that this is my last chance at this role. If I can’t send them someone good this time, they look elsewhere. I think it’s time to, oh, what’s that ridiculous phrase… “think outside the box”.’

‘Well, nothing like a heaping load of pressure to take with you into a new role,’ Bilbo told him, feeling his face twitch in the nervous tic he’d never quite been able to hide. Gandalf chuckled.

‘Let us make it more appealing for you, then,’ he suggested. ‘The role is open-ended, but probably for at least a few months, which means much steadier work than I’ve been able to find you up to now. The pay is significantly higher than the previous jobs you’ve done for me. And the role is at a publishing company.’

Immediately, several things began to run through Bilbo’s mind simultaneously.

He thought of everything Gandalf had said about this job which was going to make it an utter pain in his arse.

He thought about how completely underqualified he was.

He thought about his flat: small, dingy, bare of anything but the most basic essentials. He didn’t even have a bedframe yet. He thought about what a good, steady wage could do to correct that.

He thought about having access to an actual publishing company, and the links he might be able to build.

‘When do I start?’

******


	2. Meet and Greet

Chapter Two: Meet and Greet

Bilbo thought there was nothing quite like the first morning of a new job.

It was a bit like having a hangover (tiredness, nausea, confusion about how you got there) but without any of the enjoyment the night before.

Instead, he’d spent the previous night fretting over his small selection of office wear - trying to decide what looked the most professional - and then reading everything he could find online both about being a PA and about Prospect Publishing.

The first topic hadn’t really revealed anything he hadn’t picked up from working in various offices in the last six months. The basics all seemed rather simple when you read about them, and the reality very much depended on your boss and how they ran things. He was just going to have to work it out when he got there.

The second… well, the second had been more interesting.

Prospect Publishing specialised mostly in fantasy fiction with some general fiction included. Run by the Durin family, with Thorin Durin as the Director, it was a small company with an equally small staff turnover. Bilbo could find no evidence of jobs advertised for Prospect in several years.

Which would no doubt make life very comfortable for an interloper! No wonder some of the other temps hadn’t lasted long. Bilbo could only imagine what it was like to walk into an office where everyone else had known each other for years and you stuck out like a sore thumb, probably with everyone watching your every move.

He needed to stop thinking about this, it wasn’t helping the queasiness at all.

The rest of their website had told Bilbo mostly what he’d expected to find. The company still dealt almost entirely in print books, they worked with some fantastic cover artists (Bilbo’s diversion into their catalogue of books, which had left him with a much longer mental reading list than he’d started with, had been completely unplanned), and a good chunk of the site had been dedicated to the usual publishing rules for writers.

All of which basically boiled down to: give us exactly what we ask for and then don’t call us, we’ll call you.

There were numerous reasons that Bilbo’s Creative Writing degree would never amount to anything substantial, and the depressing nature of the publishing world was definitely high on the list.

Not at the top, admittedly, but high up there.

He pushed the thought aside at the same time that he shoved the main door of Prospect’s building open and approached the main Reception desk.

‘Good morning. I’m Bilbo Baggins,’ he told a smartly dressed receptionist, who made Bilbo look slightly scruffy in comparison. ‘I’m here to temp for Prospect Publishing.’

‘Oh yes, another one,’ the woman said with a raised eyebrow, even as she produced a signing-in book with one hand and reached for her phone with the other. ‘Try to last past 10.30, pet. I’ll get lunch out of it.’

Bilbo just stared for a moment, trying to equate her utterly professional exterior with the complete lack of professionalism he’d just heard falling out of her mouth. She paused, apparently catching his look, and shrugged slightly.

‘No offence meant,’ she assured him. ‘You know what it’s like. Got to entertain yourself somehow.’ Then, apparently realising from his continued silence that Bilbo was truly thrown, her careless front dropped away. ‘Oh shit, I really have offended you, haven’t I? I’m so sorry. The last one they sent was a bit of a madam and I suppose my back’s still up. You’ll be fine, honestly. It’ll be Dori who comes down for you and he’s an utter sweetheart, and a whiz at his job too. You listen to exactly what he tells you and you’ll do just fine, pet, honest.’

‘Right,’ Bilbo said, head whirling a bit from the sudden change of tone. ‘Thank you. I’ll make sure I do…,’ he left a clear gap for her name, waiting to see if she’d give it, and got an unexpectedly wide smile in return.

‘May,’ she informed him, holding her hand out. ‘May Cotton.’

‘Lovely to meet you, May,’ he replied. ‘Thank you for the advice. I’ll do my very best to win you lunch.’

‘You do that, and I’ll take you later in the week,’ she promised him. ‘The Green Dragon down the road does a lovely toasted sandwich with chips. Now I’d better phone up before they think you’re late. One moment…’

Internally, Bilbo shook his head and braced himself.

If the last temp had managed to upset the receptionist, goodness knew what they’d have done upstairs.

***

‘Mr Baggins,’ Dori greeted formally, even as he stepped into the Reception area, reaching his hand out in welcome. ‘Dori Lorison. Pleased to meet you. Please call me Dori.’

‘Then it’s Bilbo, Dori,’ the short, tidy man before him countered even as he returned the handshake. Dori was relieved by his initial impression. Neatly dressed and presented, with a soft but confident voice. A slight tremor in the handshake, yes, but at least he wasn’t trying to crush Dori’s hand to death (much luck he’d have had with that, anyway; Dori did enjoy returning that favour by nearly breaking the fingers of arseholes, occasionally).

Nothing here was immediately likely to set Thorin off.

‘Come with me,’ Dori requested. ‘I’ll be able to give you a brief overview of the role now, before I have to accompany Balin, the company’s Managing Director, into a meeting. After lunch, we can meet again for a more detailed rundown.’

‘You work for Balin, then?’ Bilbo asked politely, and Dori smiled.

‘I do,’ he confirmed. ‘I have for nearly fifteen years now. We briefly discussed my taking on the role with Thorin – Mr Durin – and getting a temp for Balin instead, but Thorin said there was no point creating confusion in two places rather than just one. We could have backfilled all the way down the chain, I suppose, but everyone here knows their jobs so well…’

‘They would do, I imagine, when you have such a low turnover,’ Bilbo said idly, as if thinking out loud. ‘Besides, I saw a company attempt something like that elsewhere. They ended up with someone trying to do both their new job and their old job simultaneously, because they knew they could do the old job better than the new person.’

Dori looked at him sharply in surprise, eyes narrowing.

‘How did you know we had a low turnover?’ he asked, wondering what Greyhame had told this man about their operations. Surely they didn’t give that thorough a rundown before someone started a temp job.

If they had, most of the previous candidates hadn’t been listening.

‘Oh,’ Bilbo said, clearly startled. ‘I don’t, really. I could be completely wrong. I just couldn’t find any recent jobs advertised when I was searching the company last night. I made an assumption.’

‘No, you’re right, in fact,’ Dori confirmed. ‘Our staff tend to remain with us a long time. We have had some vacancies in the last few years, but we also had people we knew who could fill those vacancies. Right, here we are.’

The lift doors opened, they stepped out, and immediately Dori spotted every member of staff at Prospect who had an excuse to be in the main open area. All of them pretending _not_ to stare at the latest sacrificial lamb (Kíli’s words, not Dori’s, and damn him for getting that phrase stuck in Dori’s head.)

‘This way, Bilbo,’ Dori said firmly, ushering Bilbo in front of him for just a moment so that he could aim his best bitchy death glare at the bunch of slackers masquerading as his colleagues. Quite a few of them suddenly found they had better places to be, but there was one downside to Prospect’s hiring policy.

It meant that far too many of these idiots had known him for years on end and didn’t fear his wrath anywhere near as much as they should.

Also, two of them were related to him.

Bloody Nori. A jaunty wave was _not_ an acceptable response to being reprimanded by a senior member of staff!

Even if it was a non-verbal reprimand.

He could have cold beans on toast for tea tonight and like it, the cheeky sod.

‘Kitchen is just in there,’ Dori told Bilbo calmly, even as he plotted his brother’s culinary downfall. ‘We provide tea and coffee, and one of the team picks up milk every morning. There’s a fund that everyone puts in to for all of that,’ he clarified, forestalling the question he could see coming, ‘but we’re not expecting you to pay in, unless we find you’re drinking 20 cups a day. And if you are, I think we might stage the intervention first and worry about the financial side of things after.’

Bilbo laughed brightly, and Dori gave him two more mental points on his running tally. One, was going to offer to contribute at all. Two, can take a joke. Actually, he thought, there should be a third. The man had _clearly_ done his homework last night, based on that conversation in the lift. Only one of the other candidates had researched the company before they arrived, and the poor woman just hadn’t been able to deal with Thorin’s current mood, despite being very good at her daily tasks.

‘And this will be your office,’ Dori concluded, as they entered the room. Bilbo’s eyes went wide in shock for a moment, and Dori looked over the room again, wondering what had caused it. Desk, computer, meeting table, picture on the wall (fancy painting, admittedly, but Dís refused to look at something tacky all day), potted plant, window…

He didn’t see anything startling.

‘I was expecting something a bit smaller,’ Bilbo said quietly, still gazing around wide-eyed.

‘Hmm,’ Dori replied, deliberately non-committal. He supposed it _was_ a fairly large office, but not outrageously so. He didn’t really understand Bilbo’s shock. He filed it away, as he filed away most things he didn’t understand, for a time when he might need it, and moved on.

‘Let’s get you logged in and talk through what you need to do. Thorin’s out for the morning, which is why it was convenient for you to start now. You get a bit of time to get your feet under you.’

***

There were, it turned out, a few basic rules for being Thorin Durin’s PA.

  1. Any emails marked Private and Confidential got moved into the ‘Private and Confidential’ folder without Bilbo ever opening them, until further notice (which Bilbo was _completely_ fine with, thank you very much);
  2. Any emails marked Personal went into the ‘Personal’ folder in the same circumstances;
  3. If the time was marked as ‘Hold’ in the diary, Bilbo couldn’t book appointments in it, or put any calls through;
  4. Unless the person calling was on the ‘Very Important Person’ List;
  5. Any other time in Thorin’s diary was fair game and Bilbo ruled it (Dori made that clear. Apparently Thorin’s real PA had been known to rip him up one side and down the other when he didn’t follow his schedule, though Bilbo couldn’t see himself doing the same);
  6. Bilbo did not do dry cleaning, or shopping, or anything like that, unless in exceptional circumstances; and
  7. He might buy Thorin lunch, or get him coffee, but only if he was _asked nicely_ (Dori stressed the latter part, which made Bilbo wonder if the asking nicely had taken a lot of training, or if Thorin had a tendency to forget it).



It all sounded very simple when you laid it out like that.

And the man in question wasn’t there.

Bilbo didn’t think it was going to be simple _at all_.

He thought it might be interesting though.

‘I really need to get to this meeting,’ Dori said after their first hour together, checking his watch and pulling a face, the first undignified thing Bilbo had seen him do. ‘There’s a pile of correspondence here that Thorin’s signed in the last couple of days and no one managed to deal with because… well, no one’s dealt with it. Could you just prep it to go out? Stationary’s in that cupboard there,’ he pointed across the room, before shuffling a large pile of paperwork in front of Bilbo. ‘Post tray is back by the lifts. Photocopier is just outside the door, and we take copies of anything important that we might need to refer back to. If in doubt, take a copy. We can always shred it if we don’t need it.’

With that, he was gone, and Bilbo sat back in the chair and tried to catch his breath.

His mind was spinning rather, and not just from the last-minute barrage of instructions he’d received. Thankfully, the task sounded pretty simple, but Bilbo thought he’d take a moment anyway. Dori had shut the door on his way out, which conveniently hid Bilbo from potentially prying eyes as he scrubbed his hands over his face and tried to decide if he could do this job or not.

‘Bit late to be worrying about that now, you idiot,’ he muttered to himself after a few seconds. ‘You’ve already agreed to do it. Besides, you need the money and you know it.’ He took a few more breaths and then straightened. ‘You managed most of a bloody PhD, you drama queen,’ he chided aloud, ‘you can manage this. You know what Mum always said. One step at a time, not all five hundred miles at once.’

Pep talk complete, he picked up the first letter and started trying to work out whether it counted as important or not.

***

A while later, he was feeling very proud of himself. He had two piles – important and not-important – with one all enveloped up and ready to go and the other ready to be copied.

He’d even managed to win the first battle with the photocopier, which had acknowledged his overlordship by beeping contentedly when he introduced it to the ID card Dori had given him, and announcing that he was logged in.

After some fiddling with the settings, he had managed to produce readable copies of his first letters and was wondering if he should go out and buy a lottery ticket while his luck was in.

The last time he’d tried to use a photocopier at a temp job without expert assistance, he’d managed to jam it in every single place it was possible to have a paper jam. His supervisor had not been impressed, though his fellow admin assistant had at least had a sense of humour about the whole thing.

He should have known better than to get cocky.

Bleep. Bleep.

Red warning light of doom.

‘Oh, don’t you…,’ Bilbo muttered at the copier irritably. ‘ _What_? You were working just fine a moment ago.’

The screen looked just as it had before, save for the red warning light. The copier stubbornly refused to produce any paper.

‘Oh, well that’s really bloody helpful, isn’t it?’ Bilbo complained, perhaps a bit louder than he should have done. ‘I’m broken, somehow, but I’m not going to tell you what the problem is. Guess! Stupid thing.’

He scanned the screen again, then the corridor to check for other members of staff. Seeing no one, he gave the copier the gentlest of kicks, just in case, and said, ‘Come on, you stupid thing. Get a grip.’

People really would be surprised how often that worked.

Truly.

Although, alas, not this time.

Instead, it produced the last thing Bilbo wanted to hear.

‘Do you usually kick things that refuse to do what you want?’ a deep voice queried, the tone deliberately casual.

Bugger.

Caught.

***

There was someone in the hallway outside his office, talking to themselves and kicking perfectly good office equipment.

Someone he didn’t recognise.

Thorin stared for a long breath, coming to the logical conclusion that, if he didn’t recognise them, this must be his new PA. His new PA, who apparently had a violent streak.

Then he asked the mildest question he could think of in the circumstances and watched the latest addition to his company freeze like a startled rabbit.

Well. This was going to be interesting.

******


	3. Tried and Tested

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much to everyone who's left feedback so far. I'm so happy that there are people enjoying the story!
> 
> Those of you who've read my one-shot Some Magical Occurrence may recognise some... themes, I suppose, from that in this chapter. Magical was actually an off-shoot of my planning for this story.

Chapter Three: Tried and Tested

‘Do you usually kick things that refuse to do what you want?’

The question hung in the air for long moments, while Bilbo stared at the photocopier and practiced a trick as old as time.

Pretending nothing was happening and hoping the threat would go away.

He’d never claimed to have the heart of a lion.

Unfortunately, it soon became clear that on this occasion, his tried and tested tactic was _not_ going to work. The steady footsteps were approaching him, not getting further away.

Realising his fate was already sealed, Bilbo turned to face the person approaching… and groaned internally.

Thorin Durin. His new boss. Bilbo had, at least, had the good sense to research what he looked like, so he’d recognise him when he saw him. Although a headshot on the company website had not made it clear that the man was over 6 feet tall and would make Bilbo feel like a bit of a midget when he stood that close.

Bilbo was not fond of people who loomed over him. It was rude, and it made him tetchy.

Tetchy enough to respond to Mr Durin’s question with, ‘If I think they’ll be more productive after I’ve kicked them, yes. Or sometimes if it will make me feel better.’

‘And in the case of the defenceless photocopier, it was which?’ Mr Durin queried, in a rather challenging manner.

‘If you think a photocopier is defenceless, it’s because you’ve never used one,’ Bilbo informed him. ‘As long as you’re gentle, a kick can sometimes work wonders on them,’ he continued, trying to sound confident in his assertion, ‘and if it makes you feel better in the process, that’s just a bonus.’

‘Of course,’ his new boss replied, not quite able to hide his disbelief. ‘Well, as it doesn’t seem to have produced the desired result this time, Mr Baggins,’ and there went any hope that he didn’t know who Bilbo was, ‘you might try finding Kíli instead. He’s usually able to fix whatever’s wrong with it.’

Then he walked away without another word and disappeared into Bilbo’s new office.

_Oh Bilbo, I don’t think that was what Gandalf meant by representing the agency well_ …

***

Thorin slid into the big desk chair that always made him feel a bit like a Bond villain - Dís insisted that they needed a white cat so she could practice sweeping round dramatically while stroking it, no matter how often Thorin told her that she was misremembering the film – and immediately reached for his phone.

Balin sounded slightly breathless when he answered, and a little disgruntled. He’d probably been about to head out for an early lunch and had to run back when Dori told him it was Thorin.

‘Yes, Thorin?’

‘When I asked you to get me a replacement for Dís,’ Thorin began slowly, ‘I meant a replacement in _skill_ , Balin. Not temperament.’

There was silence on the other end of the phone. Thorin counted nearly ten seconds before Balin said, ‘I haven’t met Mr Baggins yet. I take it he’s a little… feisty.’

‘I’ve just returned from my meetings to find him kicking the photocopier. He then proceeded to inform me that he saw nothing wrong in kicking anything if it made him feel better.’

Balin spluttered with laughter which he’d clearly tried, and failed, to hold in.

‘Oh Mahal,’ he murmured, almost to himself. ‘We’ve got another one.’

‘Yes,’ Thorin said emphatically, ‘we _have_ , Balin. Except this time, I’m not protected from the lunacy by a blood relationship. It’s all very well for you to laugh,’ he exclaimed, when Balin continued to do exactly that, ‘you’ve got lovely, sane, sensible Dori to work with.’

‘Well I did _offer_ , Thorin,’ Balin pointed out, far too reasonably. ‘You’re the one who said he should stay with me.’

‘Oh, sod off,’ Thorin muttered irritably.

‘I don’t know what you’re being so dramatic about,’ Balin chided a second later. ‘You’ve managed to get rid of five temps in the last three months. No doubt if Mr Baggins is actually that difficult, he’ll soon be on his way too, and Dori will have to try another agency.’

‘In other words, “Stop whining, Thorin, and let me go to lunch,”’ Thorin translated.

‘Exactly,’ Balin agreed. ‘Stop whining, Thorin, and let me go to lunch.’

***

After another couple of minutes in silent battle with the photocopier, Bilbo acknowledged that he wasn’t going to win this time and hesitantly made his way out into the wider office space.

On the one hand, he supposed it was actually quite nice of Mr Durin to give him the name of someone who could help him.

On the other, it would have been more helpful if he’d had the faintest idea what that person looked like, or where they could be found.

‘You alright there, lad?’ a cheerful Irish voice asked, drawing Bilbo’s attention. The speaker was a man with dark, curly hair, leaning on a partition about ten feet away and watching Bilbo with a mischievous glint in his eyes that immediately made Bilbo nervous.

There was usually at least one joker in every office, and it was all too easy for the new person to become the butt of the joke.

‘Fine, thanks,’ Bilbo replied, straightening to his unimpressive full height. At least this bloke wasn’t a giant like his new boss, so it might not be a completely wasted effort. ‘I was told to look for Kíli.’

‘Corner over there,’ his smiley new colleague informed him, gesturing off to the right. ‘Just go on in. He often has earphones in, he might not hear you if you knock. I’m Bofur, by the way.’

‘Bilbo,’ Bilbo replied automatically, the courtesy entirely ingrained, ‘and thank you.’

‘No problem. No doubt we’ll see more of you later.’ It was only then that Bilbo realised there was another person with Bofur, a man who looked as grim as Bofur was sunny, tapping away on the computer in front of him. As if sensing Bilbo’s glance over, the man raised a hand and gave a short, sharp wave, but still didn’t look up from his screen.

‘Really, Bifur, you couldn’t manage a hello?’ Bofur was saying as Bilbo walked away, but if there was a response then Bilbo didn’t hear it.

The office in the corner opposite Mr Durin’s was only a bit smaller than his, which Bilbo found a little odd until he spied two desks through the glass in the door. Glass which, he noticed with a small smile, had a post-it note with a scrawled ‘JUST GO IN!’ stuck to it. So, the cheerful Irishman probably hadn’t been trying to get him in trouble after all.

Feeling a bit like Alice in Wonderland obeying the ‘Drink Me’ instruction, Bilbo grabbed the handle and slipped inside the office, opening his mouth to offer a greeting.

He stalled in surprise when he was confronted with a young man sprawled back in his desk chair, feet on the desk, arms spread wide. His dark hair looked as if he’d run his hands through it about five times too many, and his shirt was askew. He was also in the midst of a passionate solo.

_And I’m yours_

_When it rains, it pours_

_Stay thirsty like before_

_Don’t you know that the kids aren’t al-_

_The kids aren’t alright_

_And I’m yooouuuuursssss_

The young man raised his arms over his head as he finished, curling his legs so that his knees were bent and his chair rolled closer to the desk, face drawn in concentration. Then his voice trailed off and Bilbo, sensing an opening, tried, ‘Um, excuse me?’

‘Oh shit!’ the man flailed, caught off guard. He shoved back from the desk so fast that his chair hit the wall behind him and he promptly slid forward off the edge. ‘Hi,’ he greeted after a breathless moment, from his new perch on the floor. ‘You must be Bilbo Baggins. I’m Kíli.’

Bilbo tried to do the professional thing, he really did. He tried to pretend that nothing had happened; that he’d walked into the room and Kíli had looked up from his computer and said hello like a normal person.

He just couldn’t.

‘Impressive solo,’ was what came out instead, along with a snort of laughter that wasn’t in the slightest bit attractive.

‘Thank you,’ Kíli responded brightly, without a hint of embarrassment, making no noticeable attempt to get off the floor. He seemed much more interested in studying Bilbo instead, which was rather discomforting. ‘I was quite happy with it. You have to put a bit of welly behind that last line to match the original.’

‘Well, you certainly managed that,’ Bilbo acknowledged. ‘Do you… do you need a hand?’ he offered, when it seemed that Kíli would stay on the floor all day.

‘What?’ Kíli asked, seeming slightly bewildered. Then he looked around him and finally appeared to notice where he was. ‘Oh, yes. Floor. Chair. Appropriate use of office furniture and stuff.’ He grabbed hold of the chair and hauled himself upright, just missing the edge of the desk with his forehead, then plonked himself back in his seat. ‘Anyway, how can I help? I take it you didn’t come to be serenaded. Or were you here for Fíli?’

‘Fíli?’ Bilbo queried, trying to keep up. He got the distinct impression that Kíli was something of a whirlwind.

‘Fíli,’ Kíli reiterated, gesturing at the unoccupied desk. ‘Sales and Marketing, currently out for lunch, the one responsible for my musical interlude.’

Bilbo took half a breath to contemplate whether there was any point trying to get things back on a professional footing at this point, then looked at the happily grinning mess before him and decided the answer was no.

He was liking this company better by the second.

‘I’m dying to know,’ he asked, rather than answering the question of what he needed, ‘how _does_ he prompt your musical interludes? Remote control?’

Kíli cracked up laughing.

‘He wishes,’ the other man said between chuckles. ‘He’s constantly dreaming aloud about muting me, or at least turning my volume down. No, in this case, Fíli went off to get lunch and told me to just bloody well sing it once at full volume if it would stop me humming it all day. So, you really do have him to thank for your treat.’

‘Then I’ll be sure to be suitably grateful if I run into him,’ Bilbo promised, before realising he ought to have chosen a better form of words. At the rate he was going, he’d probably physically run into this Fíli whilst carrying a hot drink, or something equally inane, having just cursed himself. ‘In the meantime, I’m told you’re good with stubborn photocopiers?’

‘Ah, up to its old tricks again, is it?’ Kíli asked, immediately getting to his feet. ‘Let me guess, you couldn’t work out what was wrong with it so you could fix it?’

‘ _Yes_ ,’ Bilbo said, aware his voice was filled with great frustration.

‘No problem. Come with me and I’ll reveal all,’ Kíli said grandly, in the manner of a wizard about to dispense the secret of eternal life.

To an administrator, he might as well be.

Yes, Bilbo decided, he was definitely going to like this man.

***

After the mystery of the copier was solved without any further violence required, Bilbo ate the sandwich he’d brought for lunch at his desk whilst flicking through the information Dori had left. Apparently Mr Durin didn’t need lunch purchased today, which Bilbo decided was a blessing. One less thing he could potentially mess up.

He then spent the rest of the afternoon with Dori, reviewing Thorin’s role in the company. In the process, he learnt that Kíli (Editor) and Fíli (Sales and Marketing, as Kíli had indicated) were both _also_ ‘Mr Durin’ and, for that reason, everyone referred to the three of them by their first names. In fact, Dori informed him, the business had hired a lot of relatives and so everyone used first names to avoid confusion.

‘My brother Nori is a copy editor, and my brother Ori does the cover art,’ he told Bilbo proudly, then blushed slightly as he realised just _how_ proud he’d sounded. ‘I’ll take you to meet them in a bit, and the others too.’

‘I met Bofur and Kíli earlier,’ Bilbo offered, then pretended he didn’t see Dori’s slight wince.

‘I imagine that was… bracing,’ Dori responded, with a hesitation you’d only have noticed if you were looking for it.

‘They were both very welcoming,’ Bilbo assured him, and Dori’s face softened immediately.

‘They would be,’ he said instantly. ‘They’re the friendliest pair you’ll ever meet. Now, if you met Bofur then you probably saw his cousin, Bifur, who’s one half of our Finance team. He shares the job with Glóin, who wasn’t in today. Bofur himself takes care of IT, and that’s about it. We’re a very small company, so we all multitask when we need to, but you don’t need to worry about that too much at the moment. Just take care of the things we’ve discussed and if there’s anything else I need you to do, I’ll let you know.’

Bilbo nodded, thinking that he’d quite like to be oh-so-competent Dori Lorison when he grew up, then followed Dori out for introductions to the rest of the team. At least there weren’t going to be 30 names to try and learn in the first day at this job.

He still hadn’t forgiven that one place for sticking him on Reception and expecting him to put calls through without even telling him who anyone was.

Arseholes.

***

By the time he got home, Bilbo was so exhausted that the three flights of stairs up to his flat felt like Mount Everest. He hadn’t even done that much exercise, which meant it was probably the lack of sleep last night, plus trying to concentrate for hours on end today, that had done it. Autopilot had him unlocking his front door, tucking his keys back into his jacket pocket, hanging the jacket on the only chair at the kitchen table and opening the fridge.

He wasn’t sure why he bothered each day. He knew exactly what was in there.

It would be boiled egg and toast for tea today, beans on toast for tea tomorrow, soup and slightly-stale bread for tea the day after. The day after that, all being well, he’d get paid for his previous job and would be able to go shopping.

He might be able to afford to make cheesy-mash, just for a change.

‘Christ, Bilbo, stop feeling so bloody sorry for yourself,’ he exploded irritably into the dead silence of the flat. ‘You’re not starving, are you? You sound like such a spoilt brat!’

Shutting the fridge door, he crossed the room to his bookshelf and grabbed a book from it before settling at the kitchen table. The book was an old paperback, one he’d read several times before, but it never failed to distract him from reality, which was exactly what he wanted right now.

Normally, he’d be using this time to head out to a nearby café with his laptop, knowing that the owners would let him order the cheapest thing on the menu and would pretend not to notice that he was only there for the free wi-fi. The twins were soft touches; how they managed to run a business was anyone’s guess. Bilbo had promised himself that he’d start buying something other than small bottles of water once he had a bit more money but, for now, the temptation was too much to resist.

He was never going to get a proper, full-time job without internet access, and he couldn’t afford it for the flat.

Nor was he going to get one tonight, he’d already decided on the way home. He’d done quite enough for one day. This new job was going to take a lot of the strain off his budget for a month or two, if he could only keep it.

Which would be the challenge. Keeping it.

For that, he’d need to be on the ball, which meant an early dinner and an early night, not stressing all evening over applications for jobs which were only ever ignored anyway.

No one wanted an employee with half a PhD in Creative Writing at the moment. Or, if they did, they didn’t want Bilbo Baggins.

If it wouldn’t require explaining why three and a bit years of his life were missing, he’d just scrap the PhD off his CV entirely to make himself look less flighty and overqualified.

Sighing, and realising that this did _not_ count as not stressing out about his job prospects, Bilbo shook his head firmly and focused on his book.

It would all look brighter in the morning, he told himself.

Things always did.

***

‘And then he fell off his chair, like the complete numpty that he is!’ Fíli finished with great relish, poking Kíli in the side while his brother squirmed away, looking far more bothered by the tickling than by the recitation.

Thorin wasn’t surprised. Very little ever embarrassed Kíli. The boy seemed impervious to it.

He took after his mother, who was currently just shaking her head at yet another tale of her youngest’s inability to act like a normal human being at work. Lying on the couch opposite them, head resting on a pillow, Dís looked tired despite her amusement. She always looked tired at the moment, and Thorin wished there was something he could _do_ that would change that, even though Dís had told him more than once that he helped most when he acted as if everything was normal.

Just as she was right now.

‘Dare I ask how my latest replacement reacted?’ she asked wryly, raising one eyebrow at Kíli to prompt a response. ‘Fíli, do stop poking your brother. You’re not five anymore.’

‘He thought it was funny,’ Kíli said firmly, sitting back up as a sheepish Fíli retreated to his own side of the sofa. Mahal knew that the three-seater in Dís’ living room was big enough for both of them, but somehow they usually ended up fighting over the middle unless reminded to act like adults instead of a pair of children. ‘Or he didn’t seem particularly put off, anyway. I don’t think he’s going to run for the hills like the second one did.’

‘That _is_ a comforting thought,’ Dís acknowledged, still sounding far too intrigued for Thorin’s liking. She’d been getting detailed updates on each of the temps from somewhere – Dori or Balin, if Thorin had to guess – and was taking great delight in ‘debriefing’ Thorin about where he’d gone wrong with each one.

Honestly, he thought she might just be entertaining herself whilst on sick leave by dreaming up complicated scenarios for these debriefs. He didn’t think for a minute that the tale she’d spun him about the second temp was true. It seemed much more likely that Dís was indulging her flair for the dramatic.

‘Perhaps this time, we’ve found someone who really is capable of babysitting you until I come back,’ Dís added slyly, before giving Thorin an innocent smile that he knew her far too well to believe.

‘I do _not_ require a babysitter,’ Thorin insisted, drawing his dignity around him. ‘Or are you finally admitting that you’ve been employed as a glorified babysitter all these years?’

‘I admit nothing!’ Dís declared, deliberately loud and melodramatic, even if she remained lying down and didn’t include the wild arm-waving she might have six months before.

A huff of laughter came from the doorway as Dwalin entered, drying his hands on a tea towel and pretending exasperation.

Perhaps the only good thing, if it could be termed that, about Dís’ illness, was that the diagnosis had come not long after Dwalin had completed his full term in the army and been discharged. Where Thorin would have had to fight Dís tooth and nail to be allowed to help with the day-to-day things that were a bit much for her right now, Dwalin somehow got away with just doing them.

Thorin never had worked out why Dwalin got to be the favourite brother, but he and Balin both thought it was very unfair. And possibly related to absence making the heart grow fonder and the mind grow _very_ forgetful.

‘What about being hungry, Nell Gwyn?’ Dwalin now asked her dryly. ‘Ready to admit to that?’

‘Depends. What have you made?’ Dís asked in response, even as she held out a hand so that Thorin could help her off the sofa.

‘Just spaghetti bolognese and garlic bread, as you’ve got the gannets here.’ Anything else Dwalin might have said was drowned by the thunder of Fíli and Kíli rushing to the table to try and get the first go at the food. Thorin rolled his eyes at Dwalin, who returned the gesture.

‘Anyone would think they never ate,’ Dwalin complained. Then, more loudly, ‘There had best be some left for the rest of us, you two, or I’ll be breaking heads!’

Helping Dís into the dining room, Thorin reminded himself yet again that she was doing well and that her prognosis was as good as it possibly could be. It would only be another month or two, and then she’d be back with them at the office again.

Just another month or two.

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kíli is trying to be Patrick Stump of Fall Out Boy ;)


	4. In Confidence

Chapter Four: In Confidence

By the end of the week, Bilbo was far less enamoured of his separation from all matters ‘Private and Confidential’.

In theory, it was a fine idea. He understood that. There were sensitive business issues that you didn’t necessarily want to trust to someone who wasn’t fully employed by your company.

It just made it _really bloody difficult_ to do his job effectively at times.

Like now.

Pulling together Thorin’s schedule and files for Monday shouldn’t be this difficult, but he had two separate meetings in the diary which seemed to relate to different ‘Private and Confidential’ matters. Which meant that, naturally, Bilbo couldn’t find anything about them _anywhere_ in Thorin’s emails. They’d already been in the diary when Bilbo arrived, so he didn’t even have any clues to go on.

He couldn’t go into that folder without permission, but he didn’t want to go to his boss with his first proper task and look as if he’d just given up partway through.

And some idiot had named one of the diary appointments ‘Prospect Meeting’, as if that was any help to man or beast!

Admittedly, staring at the computer screen blindly and tapping one finger on the N key wasn’t a great deal more help in his current situation, but Bilbo was feeling a little short of options.

_Crisis of paper, Bilbo_ , he reminded himself with forced calm, taking a deep breath. _No one’s going to die from a crisis of paper_.

_No_ , the other half of his brain chimed in, _but being rubbish at your job might get you chucked out like the others_.

By now, Bilbo had heard rather a lot about his predecessors in the wondrous adventure that was temping at Prospect. A great deal of it had boiled down to, ‘And then Thorin lost his temper and that was the end of that,’ which rather backed up what Gandalf had told Bilbo before he began.

It did not make for a comforting work environment.

Especially considering Bilbo’s own introduction to Thorin Durin, in which he had, by his own estimation, made a bit of a tit of himself.

Thorin had spent the following day in back-to-back meetings. On the two occasions they’d needed to interact, he’d been almost painfully polite. Bilbo had got the distinct impression that he was being provided with an example of professional behaviour, by someone who thought he was in dire need of a reminder. He was now trying very hard to match Thorin’s example, and _not_ to provide him with any more examples of Bilbo’s ability to speak without thinking.

Which had been fairly easy so far this morning, as he hadn’t seen Thorin at all. Dori had told him that Thorin often took the ‘Hold’ time in his diary as a chance to work at home, because he found it easier to read new material there.

Now, if only he could have something _useful_ to give to Thorin when he arrived in the office.

‘Oh dear, that is the face of someone who definitely needs to join us for an early lunch,’ a concerned voice said from the doorway to Bilbo’s office. His head shot up and he found Thorin’s older nephew, Fíli, leaning against one side of the doorjamb, with Kíli peering over his shoulder. ‘Don’t tell me he’s already driven you to depression, Bilbo? It’s only been a couple of days.’

‘No,’ Bilbo said instinctively. ‘No, I’m fine, of course. Just thinking, that’s all.’

‘Yeah, thinking something thoroughly depressing, judging by the look on your face,’ Kíli countered. He gently pushed his brother out of the way and walked into the room, approaching Bilbo’s desk and perching precariously on the edge.

Bilbo wasn’t hoping he’d slip off onto the floor again, because he was possessed of inner strength and good character.

Honestly.

‘Come on,’ Kíli prompted, ‘confess all. What’s he done? You can’t shock us, we lived with him until we were old enough to get our own place. None of Uncle’s worst habits will surprise us!’

‘It isn’t…,’ Bilbo protested, certain that that was a slippery slope he did _not_ want to start down. You didn’t complain about the boss to a permanent member of staff in your first week, and especially not when they were _related_ for heaven’s sake. No matter how nice that person seemed.

Besides, Thorin wasn’t actually the problem in this case.

‘I just can’t find the information I need, that’s all,’ he explained hurriedly, wanting to escape the topic of Thorin as soon as possible. ‘There’s these meetings on Monday, and there must be paperwork for them but none of it’s accessible.’

‘Oh, let me have a look,’ Kíli said easily. It suddenly occurred to Bilbo that he might have been played but, before the thought could coalesce fully, he was distracted by Kíli hopping off the desk and coming around to peer over Bilbo’s shoulder. Without really meaning to, Bilbo found himself moving out of the way to make room. ‘Fí, aren’t you going to Monday’s meeting about the big project with Thorin? I bet that’ll be one of them.’

‘Yes, if you mean the one from 11–12, I am,’ Fíli confirmed, moving to join them. ‘You’re right, Bilbo, all the information came through in emails you wouldn’t have seen.’

Bilbo nodded but, even as he did so, his mind was working away. ‘Do you think…,’ he started. Then he paused, before telling himself it was fine and carrying on, ‘Could you make copies of the relevant information and put it in a sealed envelope?’ he asked. ‘I wouldn’t look,’ he assured Fíli quickly. ‘Only this way, I could give it to Thorin and he wouldn’t need to go searching for it. He must have been getting the information himself otherwise.’

‘Poor Uncle,’ Fíli said, though gently enough that Bilbo didn’t feel he was being made fun of, ‘slumming it with us minions.’ Then he nodded, smiling. ‘Yes, course I can, Bilbo. No point doing the work twice. I’ll give it to you after lunch.’

‘And I’ll bet you any money that Balin’ll be in that one,’ Kíli muttered, almost to himself, still staring at the computer screen and pointing at the other meeting Bilbo had been having trouble with. ‘Give Dori a ring and see if he can do the same as Fíli.’ When Bilbo looked over at him, he shrugged carelessly. ‘You get a feel for who goes to what, after a while.’

‘ _Thank you_ ,’ Bilbo said firmly, hoping to convey how much he meant it to both of them. It was a simple little thing, but if it would allow him to make a good impression at this point then it was worth its weight in gold.

‘You can thank us by coming to lunch with us,’ Fíli suggested, clearly deciding this was a good moment to reiterate his earlier invitation. ‘I’m sick to death of listening to this one’s voice every hour of the day. Just having someone else to talk to would be a blessing at this point.’

‘Rude!’ Kíli objected, but Fíli ignored him.

Bilbo’s stomach sank a little, despite his relief at knowing he wasn’t going to fail at his job that day.

They were being so kind, so welcoming, and he was going to have to turn them down and look horribly ungrateful. He’d had to do it before and, naturally, the invitations dried up fairly quickly.

Which was a… a _terrible_ shame, because he already liked these two very much.

‘I’m fine, thank you,’ he forced out, reaching under his desk and holding up the plastic bag with his lunch in. ‘I always bring mine with me.’

Fíli smiled easily, nodding, but didn’t turn to leave as Bilbo expected.

‘Today’s our treat,’ he said instead, holding up his hand when Bilbo began to object. ‘You’ve survived two and a half days in this madhouse, including a first meeting with this one,’ he gestured at Kíli, who had retaken his position on the desk, ‘in which he burst into song, fell off his chair and conducted half his conversation from the floor. Trust me, we owe you a jacket potato or something for not running away.’

‘I was already singing when he arrived,’ Kíli protested, looking at his brother indignantly. ‘I didn’t burst into song after he’d entered the room. What sort of weirdo do you think I am?’

‘Oh, little brother, you don’t want me to answer that question,’ Fíli assured him, patting his head gently. ‘You really don’t. There’s a presentation with video footage and a soundtrack.’

‘I’m beginning to think that _I_ want you to answer the question,’ Bilbo interjected, just on the off-chance that Fíli was telling the truth about the video footage. Fíli grinned at him and, though Bilbo was fairly sure they were the same age, in that moment he looked very young.

‘Come to lunch with us and I’ll fill you in on the edited highlights,’ he promised. When Bilbo gave him a reproachful look, Fíli laughed. ‘I’m in Sales and Marketing, Bilbo,’ he reminded. ‘I have basically made a career out of getting my own way. Come on, you might as well give in. We’re perfectly capable of staging a sit-in.’

As if to demonstrate his abilities in this area, Kíli began to draw his legs up towards Bilbo’s perfectly tidy desk so he could sit cross-legged on it.

Oh, sod it, Bilbo decided. Once wouldn’t hurt. Besides, this way he could have his packed sandwiches for tea and he’d have one whole meal more than he’d budgeted for.

He grabbed his bag and Kíli let out a little cheer, hopping off Bilbo’s desk with more energy than Bilbo could remember having for well over a year.

It was the best lunch break he’d had in nearly that long as well.

***

When Thorin arrived that afternoon, Bilbo was deep in a trawl of his inbox, answering what he could and marking others for Thorin’s attention. They were due to sit down later for an hour, to go through everything that Bilbo thought Thorin needed to deal with urgently. A distressing number of things, by Bilbo’s reckoning, appeared to have been sitting at the bottom of the pile getting nowhere for some time.

‘Bilbo,’ Thorin greeted as he entered the office, more relaxed than he’d been since Bilbo arrived. Clearly a day at home with new potential books agreed with him.

‘Good afternoon, Thorin,’ Bilbo replied absently, feeling decidedly less absent when he looked up to give Thorin a brief smile and immediately had to drop his eyes back to the screen again. That one glance had been enough to make his cheeks feel warm. Now that Thorin wasn’t in full ‘intimidating boss’ mode, it was hard not to notice that he was… well…

Gorgeous. Bilbo’s boss was absolutely gorgeous, and could make him blush just by standing there, looking at him.

It was terrible, and Bilbo refused to be a Mills and Boon cliché. Particularly because those books had utterly unrealistic endings and…

Emails. He was sorting Thorin’s emails.

The current email was from three weeks before, a query email that Bilbo was certain didn’t meet Prospect’s guidelines, and yet no one appeared to have done anything with it. Bilbo considered, then forwarded it on to Kíli with a quick request to check his assumptions in both cases before he responded.

Bilbo heard a soft laugh, breaking his hard-won concentration, and looked up again with a start. He felt himself begin to flush a second time when he saw Thorin still standing there, apparently waiting for his attention.

‘The last time I saw someone concentrating that hard in this office,’ Thorin commented wryly, ‘they were composing their Facebook status. I’m relieved to see you’re doing something much more constructive.’

‘Gandalf was very perturbed by that,’ Bilbo said, trying not to show his discomfort at this direct attention, and hoping perturbed was a suitably diplomatic word. The staff at Greyhame had informed Bilbo that “furiously angry” was rather more appropriate. ‘He doesn’t usually make such mistakes when he takes people on. I just want to do the job you’re paying me for.’

Thorin opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of what he’d been about to say and closed it again. When he did speak, all he said was, ‘Then I should leave you to it. Will 3 o’clock still work, Bilbo?’

‘It’s in your diary,’ Bilbo replied evenly, relieved.

‘And the diary rules all,’ Thorin stated ironically, heading towards his own office. ‘3 o’clock then.’

***

At 2.58pm, Bilbo gathered various printouts and folders off his desk and headed to Thorin’s closed door, knocking tentatively. He heard the faint strains of music coming through the door, something sweeping and dramatic, before it abruptly cut off and Thorin called for him to enter.

Sweeping and dramatic was a fairly good description of Thorin’s aesthetic in general, Bilbo decided, entering and taking a seat. He’d popped into the room a couple of times in the last two days, but he could admit that he’d probably looked like a scared mouse; scurrying in and out as if the cat might return at any moment.

Now, he had a few more moments to look around, and he bit his lip to keep from smiling.

The walls were a deep royal blue on three sides, with the floor-to-ceiling window on the fourth wall letting in enough light to prevent the room feeling dark and closed in. Thorin’s desk was the old-fashioned, wooden type that Bilbo thought only appeared in period films, with a baffling number of drawers and probably a hidden compartment somewhere. Confusingly, instead of being mahogany-coloured as these old monstrosities were meant to be, it was almost silver in colour.

Bilbo had to hand it to the man, it certainly created an impression.

He wasn’t sure _what_ impression, but an impression nonetheless.

Just like the painting on one otherwise empty wall, which was nearly the same size as Bilbo and contained a sole mountainous peak against a sky lit by the setting sun. Somehow, just the sight of it filled Bilbo with a feeling of both longing and foreboding.

At least Thorin’s permanent PA had chosen a lovely scene of a couple in Venice in the rain for her own office.

‘Some inheritances aren’t lightly thrown away,’ Thorin commented, clearly noticing the direction of Bilbo’s stares. When Bilbo whipped around guiltily, he raised an eyebrow that made Bilbo feel two inches tall, then smiled in a way that made his poor confused body freeze for a moment as it tried to decide whether to die of mortification or pump excess blood to his suddenly beleaguered heart. ‘Especially ones like these,’ Thorin pointed at the desk and the picture. ‘They’re bloody heavy, and we’ve rented this building since my grandfather was still in charge of the company. My sister and I decided it wasn’t worth the effort of removing them. We just got some varnish and redid the desk in a colour I could live with instead.’

When Bilbo didn’t say anything in response, Thorin added warily, smile dropping away, ‘You aren’t one of those people who gets offended by the violation of antique family heirlooms, are you?’

‘What?’ Bilbo replied. Then, coming back to himself. ‘Oh, god, no. No, it’s yours, why shouldn’t you do what you want with it? You’re the one who has to sit at it every day.’

Thorin smiled again, charity apparently restored. ‘My thoughts exactly. Now, what do you have for me?’

‘Yes, so, your schedule for Monday,’ Bilbo laid out, running through the various things that Thorin had on and the paperwork he’d need. When he came to the first private meeting, he handed Thorin the sealed envelope and looked up to see a suspicious frown falling over Thorin’s face. The other man pulled the envelope open and quickly scanned the contents, frowning more fiercely than ever when he’d finished.

Bilbo’s heart thumped anxiously, and he began to wonder if getting fired might be a good thing after all. Surely all these sudden mood swings couldn’t be good for his cardiac health.

‘Where did you get this information?’ Thorin said, tone both wary and slightly angry. ‘Dori was to speak to you about what you could and couldn’t access.’

‘He did,’ Bilbo replied immediately. ‘The first day, it was one of the first things he told me. I didn’t look at anything I shouldn’t.’

‘Everything in this envelope is confidential, Mr Baggins,’ Thorin insisted lowly. ‘Not a single item of it is for eyes outside my company, yet you’ve just handed it to me cool as you please….’

‘Fíli got it for me,’ Bilbo blurted out, too nervous for anything more suave. ‘Look at the emails again. He printed them, put them in the envelope and gave it to me sealed. I didn’t see any of them.’ He forced himself to quiet for a moment while Thorin looked down and confirmed that, yes, the emails did indeed all say Fíli Durin at the top. ‘I was just trying to help,’ Bilbo added, then cursed himself for saying it. It made him sound so childish. ‘We weren’t sure how you’d been preparing for these meetings the rest of the time, but I thought if the others who were going could give me what they were taking along then you wouldn’t need to search for things. I should have said that first.’

‘It would have helped,’ Thorin said, gazing down at the papers he still held. Then he looked up and shook his head, though it appeared to be at himself. ‘It would also help if I didn’t jump to the worst conclusion. I’m lucky you’re not entirely like my sister, Bilbo. I’d currently be missing a head after she’d ripped it off.’

‘Your sister?’ Bilbo asked, thoroughly confused about what she had to do with anything and why Bilbo would be like her even so. Seeing his bafflement, Thorin also looked confused for one moment before his face cleared.

‘They did tell you, didn’t they?’ he asked. When Bilbo just looked more bewildered, Thorin sighed. ‘Dís Durin, my sister, is the PA you’re replacing, Bilbo. Funnily enough, she has firm views on how a PA should be treated.’

‘The PA rules the diary,’ Bilbo murmured, almost to himself. ‘You only get lunch or coffee if you ask nicely.’

‘They did, at least, acquaint you with The Rules, then,’ Thorin said, half-amused, half-frustrated. ‘Anyway, she would have been unimpressed that I jumped down your throat for doing your job to the best of your ability, without letting you explain first. I’m sorry.’

Bilbo’s first thought was to say, “It’s alright,” but it wasn’t really. Thorin had scared the shit out of him for no reason. ‘Apology accepted,’ he said instead.

‘Shall we go through the rest?’ Thorin offered, and they carried on. Thorin was clearly trying to get the meeting back on a friendly note, but Bilbo kept his statements factual and to the point.

He’d been warned Thorin had a temper. Now he had the evidence of it. It was a wonder he’d got away with his own snappy little comments at their first meeting.

Definitely better to keep things formal between them.

***

‘Well,’ Dís said that night, as they tucked in to dinner, ‘how’s it going?’

This time the boys were absent (they had places to be on a Friday night), but Balin had joined Dwalin and Thorin at Dís’ dinner table.

Thorin could admit he’d rarely cooked his own dinner in recent months, and that it didn’t upset him at all.

Yes, alright, Dwalin was a better cook than he was. He would be telling Dwalin that precisely never, thank you very much.

Although, really, if it got him out of answering this question, it might not be the worst thing in the world.

‘Thorin?’ Balin prompted, when he didn’t answer Dís after several seconds.

Thorin sighed.

‘He’s bollocksed it up,’ Dwalin said sagely. ‘He only sighs like that when he’s bollocksed something up.’

‘Shut up, Dwalin,’ Thorin retorted, but it had no real power behind it. Despite Thorin’s trips to the gym, which he managed religiously several times a week, Dwalin could squash him flat and they both knew it.

If Dwalin wanted to take the piss out of Thorin, not much was going to stop him.

‘Dwalin, be quiet, please,’ Balin said, just as Dwalin was going to open his mouth again.

Except that. That would stop him.

‘Thorin?’ Balin prompted again, unnaturally patient.

‘Did you know he’d organised with Fíli and Dori to get the confidential paperwork he didn’t have access to?’ Thorin asked quietly. Balin’s eyebrows drew together and he shook his head sharply.

‘Dori didn’t mention it,’ Balin confirmed.

‘Every other temp has just come to me with the diary and told me they couldn’t find anything, at which point I’ve said I’ll get it myself. Then they’ve accepted that solution for every other similar meeting,’ Thorin explained. ‘Bilbo spoke to the boys, who worked out who else would be in the meetings, and then organised to get me copies. At which point I promptly accused him of snooping where he shouldn’t have been.’

‘Oh, _Thorin_!’ Dís groaned, exasperated.

‘It would have been the quickest way to get the information and I just assumed…’ Thorin trailed off awkwardly, realising that there was no way to make himself sound less like an arse in this situation.

‘You assumed he’d ignored the instructions he’d been given, like the last one,’ Balin completed for him. ‘Or been too lazy to do extra work, like number 3.’

‘In all likelihood, what I’ve actually done is create a repeat of numbers 1 and 4,’ Thorin sighed. ‘Perfectly competent, just not willing to deal with me.’

‘I thought you said he was feisty,’ Balin said curiously, and Dís was looking at him with equal confusion.

‘Not today,’ Thorin said. ‘Not since that first day, actually.’ He tried to think of how to explain it, then realised that he didn’t truly understand the change in Bilbo himself. The man had gone very quiet between their first meeting and their second. Almost withdrawn. Thorin had been too busy to notice properly yesterday, but today… today, he’d appeared nervous and a little scared. Even before Thorin had been an idiot. ‘Who knows,’ he carried on, deciding it was all too vague to describe to his family, ‘maybe he’s just having a bad end to the week. I’ll try not to speak before I think next week.’

‘Yes, Thorin,’ Dís said dryly, ‘do try.’

At the same time, Dwalin grumbled, ‘Miracles have been known to happen.’

Thorin chose to ignore them. Sometimes silence was the only dignified response.

******


	5. Stolen Moments

Chapter Five: Stolen Moments

‘Pretty Butterfly,’ a melodic voice announced happily, as Bilbo entered the small café early on Saturday morning, almost the first patron through the door. ‘What brings you floating our way today?’

‘Good morning, Elrohir,’ Bilbo replied tolerantly, hefting his laptop bag onto his usual table and wishing, for the thousandth time, that he could afford something newer, and lighter than the proverbial ton of bricks. ‘You say that as if I don’t come and do the same thing every single time I visit you. Also, please stop calling me Butterfly. Some of your other customers are starting to think it’s my real name.’

‘And a wonderful name it would be for you, too,’ Elladan chipped in, coming over to drop a kiss on Bilbo’s cheek, ignoring the fact that it made Bilbo blush terribly as always. ‘Even if you are hiding your bright creative patterns behind a boring office job at the moment. Bottled water?’ he finished, gently, and Bilbo’s blush intensified as he nodded.

He wished he could afford to buy something else.

‘Oh hush,’ Elrohir said, as his brother wandered off to fetch the water. ‘We’d give you a _proper_ drink and a cake, occasionally, if we didn’t think you’d argue with us about it. It would be the least we could do for our most devoted customer.’

‘We both know my devotion is to your free wi-fi,’ Bilbo said wryly, but Elrohir scoffed and waved the comment away.

‘Please,’ he dismissed. ‘You can get that in McDonalds. Or in _Asda_ , if you’re so inclined. You come to us because you love us, we know it. Now, enjoy your beverage,’ Elladan reappeared and placed the water and glass on the table with an exaggerated flourish. Bilbo handed over the change he had counted out exactly before he arrived, ‘and good luck with the job hunt. Don’t leave without saying goodbye.’ Elrohir pressed his own kiss to Bilbo’s cheek, then headed off to charm some other poor, unsuspecting soul.

Bilbo reminded himself, once again, that stumbling upon Peredhel’s Dell was proof that blessings still existed, even if his life seemed to contain more curses some days.

Then he bent to the task of job applications. There were three separate roles he had promised himself he would apply for this weekend, and he needed to get cracking.

***

The burst of efficiency over the weekend meant that he started the following week in a clearer, calmer frame of mind.

Alright, so his boss was temperamental. He wouldn’t be the first one Bilbo had dealt with and Bilbo knew the benefit of patience and holding his tongue when it was important. He might have forgotten himself that first day, but he wouldn’t again. Not when the money he would earn from this role would be so very important to him.

He’d sat down and worked it all out over the weekend, just to give himself motivation.

An extra £350 per month, if he managed to keep this job. Enough to help his dad out _and_ keep a little aside for the point when Ms Durin was well enough to take her job back.

He wasn’t endangering that for the sake of being able to make a few snippy comments to an ill-tempered arse now and then.

Not a chance.

With his new determination in place, Bilbo greeted May on reception with a friendly smile as he entered the building, taking a couple of minutes to chat about her weekend.

‘I still owe you that lunch, pet,’ she reminded him just before he headed upstairs. ‘I usually take mine at 12.30. Are you free today or tomorrow?’

Bilbo startled, having assumed her original offer was one of those things people say just to be polite. Perhaps a way to let the new guy know where to get decent food near the office.

‘Let me check,’ he said, too pleased to consider refusing the offer for once. Besides, he _had_ won her a bet. ‘I’ll ring down when I have?’

‘Perfect,’ May replied, looking nothing but happy at the prospect. ‘Talk to you later.’

Clearly it was going to be a good week.

***

And, miracle or miracles, it seemed as if it was. He guided Thorin through his commitments, had lunch with May, got to know some of the other Prospect employees a little better (Bofur was just as cheerful and insane as he looked, but you really couldn’t help but like the man – Bilbo was half-convinced it was the accent), and… nothing went wrong.

The part that shocked Bilbo most was that, so far, none of the tasks he’d been given had proved beyond him. He occasionally had to refer to Dori or one of the others for help, but usually he just needed a question answered so he’d have the right context to make a decision.

It was quite refreshing, after working in places where every other word went over his head.

Apparently he wasn’t the only one who noticed.

‘You know quite a bit about publishing, don’t you?’ Kíli asked one day, another afternoon when Thorin was working at home and the younger editor had invaded Bilbo’s office to entertain himself.

Whilst sitting on the floor, of course. Seemingly Kíli was more familiar with sitting on the floor than Bilbo had initially realised.

‘I wouldn’t say that,’ Bilbo hedged. ‘Not when I’m surrounded by the rest of you.’

‘That wasn’t what I meant, Bilbo, and you know it,’ Kíli half-scolded. ‘You understand our processes better than any of the others have, even if you do have understandable gaps. This business isn’t a complete mystery to you.’

Bilbo considered for a moment, then remembered a comment Fíli had made recently about his brother being like a dog with a bone when he wanted something.

‘My degree is in Creative Writing,’ he admitted, dropping his voice for no good reason, even as he dropped his eyes too. He didn’t know why he hated telling people about this. There was nothing shameful about it, for goodness’ sake, or so he had repeated to himself time and again. It was what it was. ‘Master’s too. I was partway through a PhD when I had to give up. I’d originally intended to go into academia, you see, but… well, it won’t happen now. I’m looking for lots of different permanent jobs, but some of them are in publishing so I’ve had to do my research.’

‘Of course,’ Kíli said, and while there was some of the dreaded sympathy in his voice – the sort that slipped in when people sensed a painful subject and couldn’t help feeling sorry for you – it was mixed with blissful practicality too. ‘You been having any luck?’

Bilbo laughed dryly, before he could help himself.

‘Nary a bit,’ he confirmed, and looked up in time to see Kíli pull a face which suggested that was the answer he was expecting. ‘No experience,’ Bilbo added, though Kíli must have guessed. ‘I considered just dropping it as an option, but I’ve no real experience in anything else either. I’m applying for permanent admin roles, because obviously I _do_ have some experience for those, but they see the failed PhD and think…’

‘The worst,’ Kíli said kindly. ‘Everyone in the bloody job market always thinks the worst, don’t they? Fíli and I know exactly how lucky we were, being able to come here after uni. Some of our friends had your sort of search and it was soul-destroying.’

Bilbo just shrugged, even though part of him wanted to pour his heart out at Kíli’s implicit offer of understanding. It _was_ soul-destroying and, worse than that, it had been lonely. He hadn’t been able to talk to his dad about it, not when Dad was still so fragile, and his friends had all been from uni. They were either in the final throes of their PhDs or settled in their careers now; the former were too busy to think of anything but their theses, and the latter just felt very far away.

Still, Bilbo reminded himself, he’d be better off throwing his emotions all over one of them than over his superior at a brand-new temp job.

A reputation as an emotional wreck would not assist him at all, particularly if Thorin got to hear of it.

‘I should get on with this,’ he said instead, gesturing vaguely at his desk and the work he’d been doing before Kíli arrived. Kíli took the dismissal with good grace and heaved himself off the floor without protest to wander back to his office, while Bilbo busied himself with his work.

Bilbo tried to pretend that the series of cakes and pastries he found on his desk that week, each accompanied by silly little memes about job hunting, didn’t make him go all soft and gooey inside.

He was lying to himself, of course, but that was a time-honoured tradition of humans everywhere.

Why not join in?

***

‘Good morning, Bilbo,’ Thorin murmured as he passed through Bilbo’s office, head buried in the latest query he was reading. It was an enthralling read, and he could see why Kíli had passed it up to him. A little different from their usual fare, but the fact he’d nearly walked straight into the door on the way in was clue enough that they’d soon be contacting this author’s agent to discuss terms.

‘Good morning,’ Bilbo responded, polite as ever. Thorin shouldn’t find that either distracting _or_ infuriating, he knew this. A very efficient, perfectly-mannered PA was exactly what he’d demanded of Dori when Dís first had to take her sabbatical. That the man had managed to find him one was a testament to their good fortune.

There was absolutely no cause for Thorin to sulk, just because Bilbo laughed with Fíli and Kíli, and occasionally with Bofur, and even with Dori or Ori, but never with him.

Bilbo had never offered anything except the politest of smiles.

Not since that first day.

Thorin wasn’t that unapproachable, was he?

He wasn’t a complete idiot. He understood that his accusations about snooping hadn’t helped matters, but Bilbo had seemed nervous even before that. Even when Thorin was behaving himself.

Of course, there was nothing to say that Bilbo had to be friendly with his boss, but…

He was sociable with everyone but Thorin.

He’d been a different person on that first day, before he knew them all very well, then had clammed up entirely _just with Thorin_.

Thorin was becoming increasingly concerned that his PA was _scared_ of him.

He didn’t think there was a great deal he could do, however, except continue behaving professionally and holding his temper (Dís and Dwalin had been particularly vocal on the latter point). He couldn’t force Bilbo to be comfortable with him.

He could only hope that he’d get to see some more flashes of the sense of humour that so delighted his nephews sometime soon.

Preferably before he began to bang his head off a wall every time he heard the phrase, ‘And then Bilbo said…’

For now, however, he had another call with Thranduil about the merger and really couldn’t, he reminded himself, afford to be concentrating on his PA instead. Blasted Thranduil could talk Mahal into thinking he was a tree-sprite, if you didn’t get a good hold on the conversation from the beginning.

Thorin needed his wits about him, not sitting in the next-door office.

***

A knock on the door interrupted Bilbo just as he was drafting an email to a potential distributor, trying to politely tell the man that his meeting with Thorin would have to be moved.

Bilbo had tried, he had, but that day was the first time he could arrange a meeting with the agent of a new author Thorin was desperate to sign and something had to give. One of them was flying up for a series of meetings, the other wasn’t, and the one that wasn’t was just going to have to get moved, no matter how unhappy they were going to be about it.

Later, once Bilbo had spoken to Ori, who was still hovering a little nervously in the doorway.

‘Come in, Ori,’ Bilbo invited, hitting _Save to drafts_. ‘How can I help?’

‘I wondered if Thorin had signed off those covers I left for him?’ Ori asked quickly, eyes darting to Bilbo’s desk as he moved into the room but gave no sign of sitting down. Bilbo liked Ori a lot, particularly when he could be encouraged to relax and show Bilbo the little sketches he did of fantasy creatures and heroes of legend, but he did worry that the man seemed to start each of their encounters in this state of nervousness.

‘It’s alright if he hasn’t,’ Ori continued, ‘but I thought if he had then I could get started on any final edits he wanted and get them sent off…’

Bilbo held up a hand to pause the flow of words, then reached out to pull the covers from the pile of work that Thorin had signed off earlier that day. He’d planned to distribute them to the relevant people on his way out this evening.

‘It’s fine, I have them just…’ he informed the other man, then paused in confusion when his hand came up empty, ‘here,’ he finished, baffled. ‘They were right here. I put them with everything else Thorin signed off that needed to go back to the rest of you.’

He stood up and leaned over to shuffle through the piles of paperwork, as if the A3-sized blow-ups of Ori’s covers might have gone walkabout or disguised themselves while he wasn’t looking.

Then he brought his hands up and rubbed them over his eyes, before staring at his desk again.

‘I don’t understand,’ he murmured to himself, almost forgetting Ori’s presence. ‘Everything else is there. They were _right there_. I saw them.’

He glanced back at Ori and was surprised to see an expression of dawning comprehension on Ori’s face.

‘Ori?’ he asked, more confused than ever. ‘Did you come and get them while I was out and then forget?

‘Nooo,’ Ori said slowly, ‘but I did see…’ he trailed off. ‘Just give me one moment.’

Then, bizarrely, he picked up Bilbo’s phone. He dialled someone’s extension number upside down and, once they’d picked up, entered into the fiercest whispered argument Bilbo had ever heard.

_‘Nori, what did you take when you were in Bilbo’s office?’_

_‘Oh, don’t give me that, I know you took something.’_

_‘Because I’m hoping you’ll tell me the truth!’_

_‘Fine, I don’t care, just bring the covers back.’_

_‘I don’t believe you, bring them back.’_

_‘This isn’t funny, Nori. He’s not used to you being… you.’_

_‘Bring them back.’_

_‘Bring. Them. Back.’_

_‘If you don’t bring them back, I’ll tell Dori.’_

_‘You’d better be.’_

Then the phone went down in the cradle with resounding firmness, and Ori gave Bilbo an apologetic look.

‘He’ll have them here in a moment.’

‘Your… brother took them,’ Bilbo queried slowly, trying to piece this into something that made sense.

A few seconds passed.

No.

He still had nothing.

His brain simply wasn’t that fine-tuned.

‘Yes,’ Ori replied, looking terribly awkward and embarrassed. ‘It’s a thing he does. He swipes thing off our desks sometimes and waits to see how long it will take us to notice they’re missing. Everyone else knows where to look when things disappear, but of course you wouldn’t. Which is why I _told him_ to leave you out of it,’ he finished angrily, tugging on the end of his woollen cardigan sleeve.

‘Your brother’s a kleptomaniac,’ Bilbo said wonderingly, then nearly smacked himself in the face. Of all the things you shouldn’t say to someone who clearly loved their sibling!

‘It’s not kleptomania, as such,’ Ori said, still a little angry but not, Bilbo thought, at him. Otherwise, he sounded rather matter-of-fact. ‘It’s more… a compulsive habit of rearranging other people’s work spaces.’ When Bilbo gave him a look that was probably extremely disbelieving (he couldn’t help himself, he was going to blame all of this on shock later), Ori sighed. ‘He thinks he’s funny. It’s a character flaw. One we’ve never been able to correct.’

‘I am extremely funny, little brother,’ Nori corrected as he entered the room, covers in hand. ‘It’s not my fault none of you except Bofur have a sense of humour.’

‘Bofur’s actually funny,’ Ori muttered, tugging on his cardigan again. ‘He just lets you believe you are because he’s too nice to say otherwise. Now apologise to Bilbo for being a prat.’

As quick as that, Nori’s carefree demeanour and abrasiveness dropped away. He met Bilbo’s eyes and gave an abashed smile that somehow managed to ring true despite the events of the last ten or fifteen minutes.

‘Sorry,’ he offered, slightly sheepish. ‘I knew Ori would want those proofs back as soon as possible, and it wasn’t going to take him long to work out where they’d gone. I figured this was the gentlest introduction you were going to get. The others’ll tell you, you’re not a real part of the team until you’ve lost something to me.’

‘Are you stealing from my employees _again_ , Nori?’ Thorin asked wearily, and they all startled, Ori letting out a little shriek of surprise that made Thorin smile fondly at him. He was standing just outside his office with a pile of papers on the palm of one hand, a biro tucked in the other, and his mug balanced on the papers. ‘What have I told you about causing chaos for your own amusement?’ he continued, looking back at Nori.

‘Only on Friday afternoons or when you’re not here?’ Nori tried, with a quirk of laughter in his voice that made Bilbo think this was an old joke of theirs.

‘I’m almost positive that wasn’t it,’ Thorin corrected, walking towards them and then, once Nori looked away at Ori, launching the biro at him.

‘Behave,’ he scolded firmly, when Nori squawked in outrage as the projectile caught in his hair. ‘Don’t scare the capable temp off. It’s bad enough _I_ keep scaring the temps off. I don’t need help. Now, out!’

‘Sir, yes, Sir!’ Nori responded sarcastically, saluting even as he did as he was told. He exited the office still trying to tug the offending pen out of his hair, a laughing Ori – clutching the proofs – behind him.

‘He’s incorrigible,’ Thorin sighed, shaking his head at Nori’s departing back, ‘and now I’ve lost yet another pen. I should know better than to throw things I still need at him.’

Bilbo just picked a pen up off his desk and handed it to Thorin wordlessly.

If his heart lurched when Thorin greeted the move with a grateful smile, that was no one’s business except Bilbo’s.

He couldn’t help it if his mind was playing a particular phrase back over and over again.

_Don’t scare the capable temp off._

_Don’t scare the capable temp off._

Thorin thought he was doing a good job.

Thorin _wanted_ him to keep working there.

A perpetual niggle of worry in Bilbo’s mind quieted for the first time in two weeks, and he gave Thorin a small smile of his own, happy when it made Thorin grin more widely. Then his boss’ eyes turned to the clock on the wall above the door.

‘I make that 4.38, Mr Baggins,’ Thorin informed him, faux-serious. ‘Enough hard work for one day, I think. Off you go.’

‘You’re sure?’ Bilbo asked, though his mind was already calculating that the extra 22 minutes would allow him to get the earlier bus, and he’d probably get a seat.

‘Yes, Bilbo, I’m sure,’ Thorin assured. ‘What’s going to get done in the next 20 minutes that’s so drastically urgent it can’t wait? Go on. Go.’

Bilbo didn’t have to be told a third time. He shut his computer down, grabbed his coat and bag, and was out of the door by 4.45.

‘Lucky sod!’ May called after him as he ran out of the building, waving at her as he went.

Bilbo just laughed.

******


	6. Unstable

Chapter Six: Unstable

He should have known better.

Why hadn’t he known _better?_

***

Bilbo had decided, not long after taking up office work, that each day had its own unique feeling. He’d soon realised that most of his colleagues agreed with him.

‘Oh, I hate Hump Day,’ he’d heard one beleaguered Finance Manager mutter at his first job, as the woman blearily clattered around the kitchen looking for coffee. ‘Why isn’t it Friday yet?’

Bilbo wasn’t fond of the term Hump Day, once he finally worked out what it meant thanks to ever-handy Google, but he had taken to the use of the word ‘ish’.

Monday-ish, Tuesday-ish, Wednesday-ish, Thursday-ish and Friday-ish.

All perfectly acceptable ways of describing his feelings on any given day.

Currently he, and the rest of Prospect, were _distinctly_ Friday-ish.

By which he meant, ‘far too chilled out for their own good and accomplishing a great deal of bugger all’.

What had started at 12.30 as a group lunch in the main office area had somehow gone downhill, and now it was 2pm and none of them had gone back to work.

Fíli and Kíli were using Nori’s desk as a combined seat/table. Nori was in his own seat but lounging back with his feet on Bifur’s desk. Bifur was leaning as far away from Nori’s feet as he could get without being on the other side of the partition wall. Bofur had rolled his chair into the middle of the four desks so he could hold court like the jester he was. Ori was still at his desk but appeared to be doodling some sort of fairytale rather than doing any work. Bilbo had, after some thought, taken a leaf out of Fíli and Kíli’s book and perched himself on Bofur’s desk.

He had expected them to make a move once all of the food Fíli had produced from somewhere had been devoured, but instead they’d simply remained here chatting and joking and generally mucking around. And now Kíli’s incessant humming was getting louder and louder, until Bilbo could make out actual words.

Fíli groaned.

_…seas would rise when I gave the word._

_Now in the morning I sleep alone_

_sweep the streets I used to own._

More surprisingly, this seemed to be some sort of cue. Without warning, another voice took over and Kíli grinned wildly as Bofur announced that he used to roll dice and feel fear in his enemies’ eyes. Unlikely, but Bilbo was vaguely familiar with the song and the two of them sounded wonderful as they passed it back and forth between them. Unfortunately, he was uncomfortably aware, checking his watch, that they really ought to be back at work; that Thorin, Balin and Dori were due back from a meeting presently and he should probably set a good example by making the first move.

Only then he would look like the stick-in-the-mud who couldn’t stand a bit of fun and relaxation, and who ruined it for everyone else. That would just make him more awkward and uncomfortable.

Office politics really was the worst thing in the world sometimes.

Especially when it ruined his enjoyment of a perfectly good musical interlude.

Just as he was thinking this, eyes drawn back to brightly-grinning Kíli and his enthusiastic invitation to be his _mirror, sword and shield_ , Bilbo’s gaze was caught by Bifur instead.

Bilbo hadn’t had much to do with Bifur up to now. The man only worked the last couple of days of the week, swapping out with Glóin. Bilbo had a vague idea, from one of Dori’s early explanations, that Glóin split childcare for his young son with his wife, and that Bifur had medical issues which made it difficult for him to work full-time. He knew that Bifur lived with his cousin Bombur and Bombur’s large family, because Bofur always said goodbye to Bifur by telling him, ‘Give the brood my love.’

Still, it meant Bifur was only in part of the time and, when he was around, he’d seemed pretty uninterested in speaking to Bilbo. He didn’t seem to speak much at all, honestly, so Bilbo hadn’t taken offence.

Now, however, Bifur deliberately held his eye for a moment before glancing down at his own watch… and then he winked.

Bilbo flushed.

Bifur had seen him fretting, clearly. How embarrassing. He didn’t know what the wink meant. Was he being teased for being uptight?

He realised suddenly that the singing had ended, and applause had broken out amongst the rest of the staff, so he joined in belatedly. It was well-deserved applause, after all. No one could deny that Kíli had talent – no matter how much Fíli might wish he used it a little less often - and Bofur had a warm voice that was only made more pleasant by the accent Bilbo was becoming so fond of.

Bilbo just wished that they…

Suddenly there was a bang, and Bilbo’s wishes were nearly made obsolete by his incipient _heart attack_.

Sweet Yavanna, what was that?

‘Time to work, layabouts,’ Bifur announced, revealing himself as the cause of the banging. He’d thumped hard on his desk. Bilbo almost startled again as he realised that was what Bifur’s voice sounded like. Huh. He had the same accent as his cousin, only lower, rougher and not as strong. It suited him.

‘ _Bif…!_ ’ Nori whined, and Bilbo was learning all sorts of things this afternoon. He hadn’t known that Nori could whine. He hit quite the dramatic pitch, too.

‘Nope,’ Bifur stated firmly, not even letting Nori finish his objection. ‘Fun time’s over. Your brother will be back soon and I’m not dealing with him in a high snit. Feet off my desk, Lorison.’

Despite Nori’s pouting, Bifur’s words seemed to be a cue the others understood as well as Kíli’s singing. The detritus of their lunch was swiftly collected up and thrown away, Ori’s sketchbook went back in his drawer, computers were logged back on; in a few minutes, everything was back to normal. Bilbo grabbed his own bits and pieces and prepared to go back to his office, only to pause when he felt someone tap him on the shoulder.

‘Don’t worry,’ Bifur murmured to him. ‘They just wait for me to give them a kick, that’s all. As long as we’re working when the others get back, no one gets in trouble.’

It only took Bilbo a second to catch on.

‘Dori knows all about it,’ he murmured in response.

‘Dori schedules Friday lunchtime meetings once a month on purpose,’ Bifur laughed. ‘Thorin keeps trying to dodge them so he can join in, but Fíli tells him it’s not as fun if the boss is here. Poor little Thorin. No one ever lets him do anything fun.’

Bilbo walked back to his office trying very hard not to crash into any walls as he giggled so hard he couldn’t see.

***

‘Pretty Butterfly, why are you wearing four layers of clothes in early November?’ Elrohir asked worriedly, eyeing Bilbo with great concern the next morning.

Bilbo, occupied in trying to separate his coat and his jumper from their loving death-embrace, smiled vaguely at him and muttered something about being cold.

‘Everyone’s a bit chilly, Bilbo, it’s November,’ Elrohir said more sharply. ‘They aren’t _four layers of clothes_ cold! What is going on?’

‘It’s fine, Elrohir,’ Bilbo insisted. ‘The boiler’s playing up, that’s all. I keep having to reset the pilot light all the time and it went out last night while I was asleep. Place was freezing when I woke up. I couldn’t get warm for ages, so I put some extra layers on. It’s fine now I’ve warmed up, especially in here. The two of you might as well be tropical birds with the temperature you keep this place at. Your heating bill must be horrendous.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be warm,’ Elladan said with fake haughtiness as he arrived to give Bilbo his usual kiss. ‘Honestly, your flat is a hazard, Bilbo. We’ve told you that before. Your landlord probably shouldn’t even be renting it.’

‘Says he who’s never been there,’ Bilbo retorted. ‘There’s nothing…,’ innate honestly compelled him to abort that sentence. ‘It’s perfectly liveable,’ he settled on instead. ‘Just a tad chilly this morning. It’ll be fine by the time I go back.’

Elladan snorted.

‘As long as the boiler’s stayed on?’ he queried pointedly. Bilbo sighed, and then wished he’d done it more quietly. He’d been a little worried on that front himself, but he’d been trying not to think about it and he certainly hadn’t wanted to discuss it with anyone else.

‘It will be fine,’ he said insistently. ‘It’s only every few days. Pure bad luck it happened overnight. Now, what does a paying customer have to do to get a bottle of water around here?’ he added, relieved to catch a glimpse of a returning Elrohir out of the corner of his eye.

‘Be less beloved of the owners,’ Elrohir informed him, placing something that looked suspiciously like a hot chocolate on the table instead. When Bilbo began to protest, Elrohir actually glared at him, which surprised Bilbo so badly that he came to a grinding halt. ‘Just give me the money for the water and be quiet, stubborn little Butterfly. It will make us feel better about the fact you live in a shithole and won’t let us help.’

‘Why should you?’ Bilbo asked, unthinking. ‘You’re the owners of the coffee shop I come to work at.’ They had offered bits and pieces, of course. To speak to friends who had flats to rent, to let him stay on their sofa while he saved some extra money… the sorts of kindnesses that clearly came naturally to the pair of them and that Bilbo couldn’t possibly accept.

He’d seen the way that they quietly aided the homeless people who stopped by the café regularly. He’d noted Elladan disappearing upstairs with those they obviously knew better, reappearing with the same people showered and dressed in cleaner versions of the clothes they’d been wearing.

These two couldn’t help trying to help those less fortunate.

Bilbo wasn’t ready to be one of those needing their assistance.

He preferred being the person they teased and bickered with.

Only, he realised, the area around his table had suddenly gone deathly silent and even colder than his flat that morning, not a hint of teasing to be found. He looked up and saw identical looks of frozen hurt on twin faces.

‘I…,’ he started, but Elladan cut him off.

‘Don’t let us keep you from your work, Bilbo,’ he said formally. Butterfly was gone, Bilbo noticed instantly.

Shit, what had he done?

He opened his mouth again but couldn’t think what he needed to say. He hadn’t _meant_ to hurt them, but he’d thought he was speaking the truth. It wasn’t up to them to improve Bilbo’s lot in life. He _had_ a flat, and a job, and food to eat.

Surely they should be saving their charitable impulses for those who didn’t have those things?

‘Brother, we have a queue forming,’ Elrohir prompted, after a brief moment of uneasy silence. With a sharp nod, Elladan turned away and Elrohir went after him.

Why did Bilbo feel like crying, he wondered.

He didn’t cry.

Ever.

Someone in the family had to be able to get things done, and that meant he couldn’t afford tears.

He turned back to his job applications.

The hot chocolate went cold.

***

By Tuesday – horrible, Tuesday-ish Tuesday, when you didn’t have the usual flood of Monday’s catch-up work to make the day go fast and Friday was eons in the future – Bilbo was perfectly heated and absolutely miserable regardless.

He’d called his dad on Sunday, as always, and found him in one of his low moods. Unable to ease him into a happier frame of mind, as he sometimes could, Bilbo had instead found himself dragged down by Bungo’s black misery. Everything else he’d done that day had dragged, he’d developed a crushing headache and had gone to bed with a desperate desire to sleep forever.

Instead, he’d had nightmares as he hadn’t for months.

The call to say Mum had died.

The call about the fire.

The final discussion with his supervisor to say he’d never have a thesis to defend.

Frozen hurt on Elladan and Elrohir’s faces.

He woke up on Monday shaking and heaved his dinner into the toilet. Then, for the first time in his temping career, he considered calling in sick.

He didn’t, of course.

He wouldn’t get paid if he wasn’t at work.

Still, he’d considered it.

When he’d arrived at the office, Thorin had taken one look at him and gestured him into his own office to ask what was wrong.

‘Headache,’ Bilbo had replied, unable to think of anything else to say. He had still had a headache, after all, and _I’m miserable_ wasn’t a good excuse for poor performance at work. He’d seen Thorin look him over again and convert that to _migraine_ based on his appearance, consider sending him home and discard the idea for the same reason Bilbo had come in.

‘Alright,’ Thorin had said softly, the sort of gentle tone Bilbo hadn’t realised he could use. ‘Go and sit down. Just keep an eye on email for today. I’m going to read some paperwork that I received over the weekend, and you’ve already prepared for my meetings tomorrow. Anything else should be able to wait.’

Bilbo had wanted to cry _again_ and it had been bloody infuriating, damnit.

At least the rest of the office had left him alone. Thorin must have sent out some sort of whole-office email, because he’d had the quietest day of his entire stint at Prospect and had actually felt vaguely human by 5pm.

Probably to make up for the calamity that was today: traitorous Tuesday.

Tuesday, which was proving just what an idiot Bilbo was after all.

He should have known better.

Why hadn’t he known _better_?

Why hadn’t he checked his bloody drafts folder at some point in the last, oh Yavanna, _three working days_ and found the email he was now staring at?

_Dear Mr Proudfoot_

_With apologies for the short notice, I will need to reschedule your meeting with Thorin on Tuesday at 2.30pm. Unfortunately, Thorin needs to attend another urgent appointment which can only take place on Tuesday afternoon._

_Please let me know, at your earliest convenience, when you would be available for a rescheduled meeting. I will then try to match Thorin’s diary with your availability._

_Many thanks_

_Bilbo_

Shit, shit, shit.

Proudfoot was such an apt name. The man had been furious when he’d phoned Bilbo 30 minutes ago to ask where Thorin was and why he’d been kept waiting for fifteen minutes with no phone call to update him on Thorin’s arrival time.

He had not been at all mollified by Bilbo’s stuttering, ‘But… but I cancelled the appointment!’

‘You most certainly did not, boy,’ Proudfoot had boomed down the phone, as if this was still the 1920s and Bilbo was a disobedient servant. ‘I suggest you get Durin here sharpish after I’ve wasted all this time.’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Proudfoot,’ Bilbo had replied, regaining some of his poise, if not much, ‘but Thorin had to attend another meeting. You should have received an email last week confirming that we’d unfortunately had to cancel and requesting that you suggest another meeting time.’

‘What?’ Proudfoot had barked. ‘I received no such thing. Cancelled? Do you have any idea how many other things I could be doing this afternoon, boy? Put Durin on the phone so I can talk to him about this.’

‘Mr Proudfoot, I’ve just told you,’ Bilbo had said, as patiently as his breaking temper would allow, ‘I can’t. Thorin’s at another meeting. He isn’t here. If you have your diary with you then, of course, I can reschedule for you now…’

‘We’ll see about that!’ Proudfoot had snapped, as if that meant anything at all. ‘I’ll be contacting Durin directly, and I’ll be telling him exactly what I think of his secretary while I’m at it.’ Then he’d slammed the phone down.

Which left Bilbo where he was now. Staring between the email he’d drafted but never sent ( _blithering idiot_ ) and Proudfoot’s scathing essay to Thorin about people who missed their appointments for ‘important deals with key suppliers’ and the idiot secretaries who couldn’t run a simple diary ( _pompous arse_ ).

Who even USED the term secretary these days?

Oh Yavanna, what if he’d lost Thorin a contract with an important supplier? Was that a sackable offence? Gandalf might have another experienced PA on the books by now, someone who didn’t do stupid things like this…

Was he going to lose this job, when he was just realising how much he liked it?

When Elladan and Elrohir weren’t speaking to him anymore?

When his dad was sinking again, and Bilbo had been hoping a little bit of extra money to spend on the house might give him a boost?

He was overreacting. He was. It was just one appointment.

But he was just the temp.

Shit.

‘Bilbo, what the bloody fuck is going on?’

Right, so. Thorin was back.

Clearly, he’d seen the email from Proudfoot too.

‘Mr Proudfoot wasn’t happy that… well, basically he’s just not happy,’ Bilbo said bleakly, finally managing to look up from the computer screen.

Thorin’s face, as expected, was a thundercloud of irritation, confusion and, Bilbo thought, possibly disappointment.

‘Yes, I rather gathered that,’ Thorin said tensely. He began to move away from the filing cabinet he’d rested his briefcase on, then paused for a moment and deliberately snapped Bilbo’s office door shut.

He did know his staff very well. The second they heard raised voices, they’d be round like a shot to investigate.

Eavesdrop. Investigate. Practically the same thing, as far as the staff at Prospect were concerned.

‘Explain,’ Thorin demanded, dragging one of the chairs over from Bilbo’s meeting table so that he was sitting opposite Bilbo.

At least he wasn’t looming.

‘I drafted the email about cancelling and rearranging,’ Bilbo said simply. ‘I just didn’t send it. Mr Proudfoot turned up to the meeting and then called when you didn’t arrive. He was already angry at being kept waiting. When I told him that you were at another meeting and would not be able to attend, he was even more so.’

‘Yes, and I can’t say I’m _pleased_ that you forgot to cancel a key meeting. Now I’ll have to be conciliatory when I meet the man and he’ll think it gives him an edge,’ Thorin said gruffly, making Bilbo wince. Oh, that wasn’t good. ‘I’m more concerned about this, however,’ and Thorin leaned over to point at part of the email still on Bilbo’s screen.

‘Apparently, Bilbo, my secretary was “rude, unapologetic and impertinent” when informing him of the mistake. Surely you must have realised how important it was to give a good impression to the man after something like that, Bilbo?’ Thorin’s voice rose at the end, coloured by frustration and impatience, hand waving in the air to emphasise his point.

Bilbo just stared back, stunned into silence.

Really.

That was the part Thorin was going to take him to task about?

The part he was going to _believe_?

***

Upstairs, Dori clicked from his own inbox into Balin’s and groaned when he saw an email from Everard Proudfoot. What did that old relic of the dinosaur age want?

Then he read it and cursed fluently in a way that would have shocked most of the other employees at the company.

He glanced at the clock, flicked mentally through what he knew of Thorin’s schedule for the day, and shot across the office like a mythical balrog was on his heels.

Ten feet from Bilbo’s office, he could hear a voice raised.

With a hand on the doorknob, he could hear Bilbo sounding angry and also shrill with panic.

‘I didn’t do anything except tell him the truth. The man’s an arse. He was determined to think the worst from the moment I told him you wouldn’t be coming; from the moment I picked up the phone!’

‘I don’t think calling my work contacts names is helping your case, Bilbo,’ Thorin said warningly, and Dori winced when he heard that hint of temper. Thorin wasn’t shouting, thank goodness, but Dori was familiar enough to know that frustration was making him jump to conclusions instead of thinking logically.

Of course, Thorin also wasn’t armed with all the information.

Proudfoot was always perfectly charming with _him_.

That thought in mind, Dori didn’t even bother knocking.

‘Yes, yes, I know, the two of you would like to shout at each other in private,’ he said unconcernedly when they both glared up at him. He suspected that Bilbo’s glare was more reflective, the remnants of the one he’d been throwing at Thorin only seconds before. ‘Luckily for both of you, Mr Proudfoot copied Balin into his email like the tantrum-throwing child he is.’

‘Dori!’ Thorin scolded, probably shocked at such unprofessional language. Dori waved him off.

‘Sorry, Thorin, but I’m going to be really blunt now before this becomes more than the current storm in a teacup,’ he said firmly. Walking over to the meeting table, he grabbed another chair and joined their little knot of ill-temper by Bilbo’s desk. Reaching over, he put a hand on top of Bilbo’s and wasn’t surprised when the younger man relaxed considerably at having an ally in the room. Then, letting go, he scooted back far enough that he could see them both at the same.

‘Bilbo, I’m going to make some guesses,’ he announced. ‘Nod if I get them right.’ He shot Thorin a look to ensure he would cooperate, and Thorin held up his hands in surrender. Satisfied, Dori continued.

‘Proudfoot didn’t use your name once. He called you ‘boy’, or something like that, the entire time.’ Bilbo nodded.

‘He spent at least part of the phone call shouting at you.’ Nod.

‘When you told him he couldn’t have his way, he demanded you put Thorin on the phone.’ Nod.

‘You offered to help rearrange the appointment, and he refused and sent this load of bile to Thorin and Balin instead.’ Nod.

‘Yes, that’s what I thought,’ Dori concluded. Thorin closed his eyes, raised his hand and pinched the bridge of his nose.

‘You guessed all of that _how_ , Dori?’ he asked in a thin voice.

‘They’re all things he’s done, at one time or another, to Dís or to me,’ Dori replied evenly. ‘He calls Dís “girl”, which has to be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, just because she’s female. It didn’t seem outside the realm of possibility that he’d consider a young male PA to deserve a similar title. Every time I tell him something can’t be done, he insists that I let him speak to Balin. Thorin, I hate that man so much I’ve made Glóin deal with him before now when I’ve been having a bad day. He respects Glóin, for some reason. I have a theory it’s to do with deepness of voice. Or job title. He’s an absolute and complete bastard.’

‘Then why are we still dealing with him?’ Thorin asked incredulously. ‘If Dís had told me any of this, I’d have gone to his company and insisted on dealing with someone else.’

‘We’re small, Thorin,’ Dori pointed out. ‘They might have just cut their losses.’

‘Then I’ll find out who else he deals with and see if they have the same problems and want to put in a joint complaint!’ Thorin exclaimed, and Dori almost forgave him for how drawn and upset Bilbo had looked when he walked in. When they could just get him to think first and _then_ act, their boss was a wonder.

A wonder who would set the world ablaze for them.

Or at the very least get an idiot demoted.

‘He’s not…?’ Bilbo asked, then went silent when Thorin looked at him.

‘Not what, Bilbo?’ Dori asked, when Bilbo’s words clearly failed.

‘Proudfoot’s not the head of the company?’ Bilbo finished carefully. ‘The way he always talked made me think it was just him and then his employees.’

‘People really need to tell me things,’ Thorin muttered quietly. ‘No, Bilbo, he’s a rep from a bigger company. I really am surprised Dís let this go, knowing that.’

‘We’ve only been dealing with him for about six months,’ Dori reminded Thorin, and understanding sparked in Thorin’s eyes.

Around six months ago, Dís had first noticed some symptoms but hadn’t wanted to tell any of them yet. Against that, even this idiot had probably just been a blip on the radar.

Unfortunately, he was a blip on the radar who was destabilising relations between Thorin and the best replacement for Dís that Dori had found.

Time for emergency action.

‘So, Bilbo, if Thorin grovels will you promise not to leave us for somewhere with a Director who can think?’ Dori asked, playing up the starchiness he knew the others accused him of when he wasn’t there.

Bilbo spluttered a laugh, glancing back and forth between Dori and Thorin with a slightly scandalised look on his face.

Of course, Dori realised. He’d never have seen Thorin grovel, because most of the time that happened when Thorin had upset Dís.

Or Fíli and Kíli, but they were more difficult to upset.

‘They think it will teach me humility,’ Thorin told Bilbo, trying a smile of his own. ‘I keep trying to tell them that I’m perfectly acquainted with humility. My best friend is in the army, and several inches taller than me. It’s “thinking before speaking” that seems to elude me.’

‘Then perhaps the grovelling will one day teach you how to do that instead,’ Dori pronounced primly. ‘In the meantime, you’ll do it for Bilbo’s benefit and my entertainment. Come on, get to it!’

‘He hasn’t said he’ll accept yet,’ Thorin pointed out, looking at Bilbo hopefully.

Dori tapped his foot impatiently.

‘Your apology should not be contingent upon Bilbo doing what you want,’ he insisted. ‘No matter how unfortunately I may have phrased that initial statement,’ he hastened to add, when Thorin opened his mouth. ‘Thorin, some of us have work to do. For _your_ company, I might add. Get on with it!’

‘Yes, sir!’ Thorin uttered in response, sounding like no one so much as Nori. Good grief, now there was a terrifying thought. Then he turned to Bilbo and said, ‘Bilbo, my sincere apologies for, yet again, making an assumption without listening to you properly. I hope you’ll forgive me. I can’t promise I won’t do it again, but I can promise I’ll try very, very hard not to. And also that, if I do, my staff will kick my arse and make me grovel,’ he tacked on to the end, which made Bilbo laugh out loud, apparently involuntarily.

‘I think you’re very lucky I need this job,’ Bilbo told Thorin after a moment. How serious he was, Dori couldn’t tell. Thorin clearly couldn’t either, which was doubtless good for him. ‘Now Dori’s right, we should all do some work. You had a confidential email while you were out, and I filed it away.’

Crisis apparently averted. Thank Mahal.

Dori was going to go and have a nice, quiet sit down somewhere.

He wondered if Ori had any new artwork to show him. That was always lovely and restful.

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually, Bilbo, lots of people are still called secretaries these days... but we'll forgive you, because you're having a very bad day and grumpy with it :P


	7. Lost

Chapter Seven: Lost

‘Thorin, you do understand the definition of stupidity, don’t you?’

‘Yes, Dís, I know.’

‘It’s where you do the same thing over and over again and expect a different resul…’

‘Dís! I KNOW!

‘Then why do you keep _doing the same thing_?’

‘Because it is possible to understand stupidity and still be stupid!’

‘Aargh! You are… you’re so frustrating, do you know that?’

‘You may have mentioned it once or twice,’ Thorin sighed, slumping back on Dís’ sofa until his head was resting against the top edge and his legs were stretched across the rug in front of it. ‘I said I was sorry.’

‘I’ve told you before, big brother, sorry after the fact is less effective than not doing the damn thing in the first place.’ Now it was Dís’ turn to sigh. Brothers were such a trial. Men were, in fact, and she wondered sometimes why she’d been cursed only to have male relatives left to her. The difficult ones too!

Kíli, forever bouncing himself from one faux pas to the next and then looking at her with those soft eyes as he explained that he hadn’t _meant_ to upset such-and-such, and he didn’t understand why they were being difficult about it.

Fíli, far too accomplished at getting his own way, whether it was good for him or not. Always leaving her worried that he was riding for a fall one day, that he’d find something he couldn’t talk himself out of.

Thorin, damn him, who would do perfectly well in the world - would have almost everything worth having - if could just control his bloody temper and his _mouth_ for a change.

She wouldn’t live without them, but she still wouldn’t mind knocking a few of the rough edges off.

Balin and Thorin wondered why Dwalin was her favourite, but the answer really should have been simple.

Dwalin had nothing to do with the company, which meant she never had to worry about work when he was with her and, just as importantly, his rough edges were _Balin’s_ problem.

Alas, Thorin’s were still hers and they weren’t going anywhere without help.

‘You broke the first rule, Thorin,’ she reminded him irritably, knowing that she was taking her pain and fatigue out on him but annoyed enough that she didn’t let it stop her. ‘You believed someone else over a member of your own staff. I’ve never known you to do that before without checking with both sides first. As far as I can see, you need to make a bloody decision: is Bilbo yours or is he not? If he is, then you trust him and you _stop jumping to conclusions_. If he isn’t, then this isn’t going to work, and I need to get better faster because clearly you can’t be left with anyone else.’

Low blow?

Of course it was. She was his sister.

‘Bit more obvious than your usual brand of emotional blackmail,’ Thorin told her dryly, head rolling to one side so he could give her a mocking look.

‘I don’t feel awake enough for subtlety,’ she shot back instinctively, and saw it hit home in a way she hadn’t really meant it to.

‘You’re not feeling well and I’m bothering you with my problems again,’ Thorin said softly, making to get up off the sofa. ‘You should try to rest, Dís.’

‘Oh, no, you don’t,’ Dís called out, reaching and just managing to snag the back of his trouser leg before he could escape. Life was so much easier when she could chase the lot of them round the house like the idiots they were. ‘Get back here, we’re not finished yet.’

‘I shouldn’t…’ Thorin began, but Dís ran straight over the top of him.

‘Thorin, you’re currently my best source of entertainment. The saga of the temps has been keeping me from climbing the walls for three months. When that second temp, Turid, developed a massive crush on you and then crumbled under the weight of Kíli, Fíli, Nori and Bofur trying to decide if she was worthy of you…

‘That _didn’t happen_!’ Thorin protested. She ignored him, obviously. Thorin’s denial was sweet, but unimportant in the grand scheme of things.

‘… it was the only time I thought there might have been a reason for this stupid illness. Perhaps Mahal organised it just so I’d have that mental image with me forever.’

‘Do you have a point, or are you just monologuing?’ Thorin asked, in his best bubble-bursting tone. Luckily, Dís was immune.

‘My point is that you should sit your arse down. I am never too tired to hear about the temp saga, I’m just too tired for you to ignore my wonderful advice about it.’

‘Sisters,’ Thorin groaned, even as he complied.

‘You say that as if you’ve had more than one.’

‘Sometimes it feels like I have. You’re trouble enough for two people, most of the time,’ Thorin muttered.

‘Stop whining, Thorin,’ Dís chided absent-mindedly. ‘Now, Bilbo. He’s been with you over a month, which is almost as long as your not-so-devoted admirer. Everything you’ve told me suggests you think he’s good at the job. So, I repeat the question: is he Prospect’s or is he not?’

‘He is,’ Thorin replied almost instantly. ‘Of course he is.’

‘Then perhaps you need to think about what that means going forward, hmm?’ Dís queried. Seeing Thorin’s expression become thoughtful, she allowed the subject to drop and settled down to read for a bit.

He was a clever boy. He’d work it out.

***

‘Good morning, Bilbo,’ Thorin greeted, as pleasantly as he could, when he entered the office the next morning.

‘Morning,’ Bilbo replied, already tucked into the day’s work. Before they could continue the conversation, the phone rang. Bilbo checked the number, then reached over and hit the speakerphone button.

‘Hi Elros, you’re on speaker,’ he said immediately, and Thorin heard the person on the other end choke off whatever they’d been about to say.

Elros. That would be Thranduil Oropherson’s PA.

What _had_ he been about to say?

‘Bilbo. Morning,’ the man said instead, correcting after his stumble. ‘Thranduil and Legolas might be running a few minutes late to this morning’s meeting.’

Suddenly, Bilbo got the wickedest gleam in his eyes – a gleam that gave a little kick to Thorin’s stomach, for some reason – looked at Thorin and held his finger to his lips.

‘It’s alright, Elros, there’s no one else here now. You can tell me. You’ve lost them again, haven’t you?’

The man on the other end of the phone groaned like he was mortally wounded.

‘Bilbo, I swear by all the Valar, they were _right here_ not five minutes ago! All I did was go to get tea. They had their schedule, I’d put the meeting there at the top in red and bold and underlined. I come back with the bloody tea and can I find them? Can I bloody hell! I’m going to murder the pair of them, I swear. Or resign. No one can imprison me for resigning, I suppose.’ The sound on the call faded in and out a little, as if Elros was moving around even as he spoke.

‘You poor love,’ Bilbo said soothingly, though the amusement was nearly as clear in his voice as it was on his face. ‘You’ve got to give up this tea addiction, you know. It gives them too many opportunities to escape.’

‘They can take all my free time, and my sanity, and possibly my will to live, but they can’t have my tea!’ Elros declared dramatically, then began to laugh at himself. ‘Oh, I knew phoning you was a good idea, Bilbo. I already feel better. Let me finish hunting them out and then I’ll send them in your direction. They’ll only have got distracted by something. Fifteen minutes late at most.’

‘No problem,’ Bilbo assured him. ‘I’ve got plenty to keep Thorin occupied for fifteen minutes,’ he winked at Thorin, whose stomach swooped again. If the eggs he’d used for breakfast were off, he was going to be terribly annoyed. ‘He’ll never even notice.’

‘Thanks, Bilbo. Bye.’

The phone line went dead, and Bilbo burst into giggles. Thorin couldn’t help joining him. He was adorable, though he probably wouldn’t thank Thorin for the description.

‘That was cruel,’ Thorin managed once he’d stopped laughing. ‘The poor man clearly didn’t want me to know what was going on.’

‘Oh, it doesn’t do any harm for you to know,’ Bilbo asserted. ‘I wouldn’t have let you find out if I thought you’d use it against Elros somehow. Actually, I thought you might be more patient with him sometimes, when he can’t get you a quick answer, if you knew what he was dealing with!’

‘True,’ Thorin allowed. ‘It sounds like they’re a handful. Dori’s correct, you know; he really did get the only well-behaved senior exec in the city.’

‘Balin _is_ unusually well-behaved, in my limited experience,’ Bilbo agreed. Then he looked away, as if he’d suddenly realised they were talking easily and it threw him off somehow. His hands rested over the keyboard, though he didn’t type anything, just tapped one finger repetitively on a lower key.

‘The extra time is helpful, in this case,’ Thorin told Bilbo. ‘I wanted to speak to you before Thranduil arrived and this gives us room to work with.’

‘Oh,’ and that got him Bilbo’s attention again. ‘Is something the matter?’

‘Not at all,’ Thorin reassured, then nodded his head towards his own door. ‘Let’s use my office for this.’

Bilbo still looked nervous, but Thorin had a feeling that was going to last a while yet and really, he only had himself to blame for it. Maybe what he was about to do next would go some way to easing Bilbo’s worry that he was constantly a step away from being fired.

They moved into the other room and Thorin felt his face pull into the smile/grimace that it always made when he first entered. He loved the changes that he and Dís had made to the room; Thror’s red and gold theme had been _far_ too much, and that heavy desk had made the place look two steps from ancient before they’d re-stained it.

Even so, he’d have been happier without the constant looming reminders of Thror’s presence, his hopes for the business and how much he would have hated what Thorin was currently working towards.

 _The world moves on_ , Thorin reminded himself. _Things change, and we change with them or we sink_. Then, less kindly, _Grandfather would have driven the company into the ground given his own way_.

It helped. Mostly it helped.

His temporary PA’s nervous smile helped too, which was… slightly unnerving. Thorin would think about that another time.

Thorin dropped his briefcase onto his desk chair, pulled his laptop from its bag and then moved over to his meeting table, gesturing for Bilbo to join him as he booted the computer up.

‘Bilbo, you know that there’s a key project ongoing at the moment and that it involves Thranduil and his company. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you’ve guessed some of what’s going on, just from what you’ve seen up to now.’

Bilbo paused, chewing his lip and quirking his mouth to one side as he clearly debated what he wanted to say.

‘You’re almost entirely print publishing,’ he commented at length, voice deliberately bland. ‘They deal exclusively in e-books.’ Thorin nodded, prompting him along. ‘Merger,’ Bilbo said quietly.

‘Yes,’ Thorin confirmed. ‘We’re keeping it completely quiet for now, but that’s what we’re negotiating for. We publish the same types of books, it would be better for both companies and for our authors if we could combine our expertise rather than competing. Nothing is settled, however, and Thranduil and I haven’t always seen eye-to-eye on terms. Not helped by the fact that he knew my grandfather, who ran the company before me, tangentially and they loathed each other.’

Bilbo winced, and Thorin just nodded again. Yes, it really was that painful sometimes. One couldn’t really say to a business rival in formal negotiations, ‘Oh, take the stick out of your arse! I couldn’t stand him either most days.’

Not that Dwalin hadn’t suggested it at one point, with Nori’s enthusiastic backing, but what those two knew about business negotiation couldn’t fill a thimble.

‘You’re telling me this because…?’ Bilbo queried after a moment, looking curious and uncertain in equal measure.

‘Because the “Private and Confidential” folder you’re about to get access to deals almost entirely with this merger,’ Thorin informed him, ‘and I’d rather you understood what you were looking at from the beginning than try to work it out as you go. Everything will run more smoothly that way.’ He clicked open the folder Bilbo hadn’t previously been allowed to access and navigated to one of the subfolders. ‘So,’ he began to explain, ‘the meeting today is to decide…’

Bilbo leaned close, so he could see the screen more easily, and Thorin could feel warmth emanating from him even with a foot or more between them. He lost his thread, almost trailed off, then shook himself and picked up again with an internal prayer that Bilbo hadn’t noticed.

They had a lot to get through before Thranduil and the rest of Woodland Online’s team arrived.

***

‘Thorin,’ Thranduil murmured lazily as he glided through the door (Bilbo was endlessly impressed by his ability to glide when Bilbo was still mastering walking some days), ‘apologies for our lateness. We were held up.’

‘Not at all,’ Thorin said graciously, and Bilbo knew him well enough now to see him enjoying private amusement at knowing just why Thranduil’s team had been held up. ‘Shall we?’

Thranduil nodded, and Bilbo _could_ see why he and Thorin rubbed each other the wrong way, he really could. They both had the instinctive tendency to order things their own way, which so often came with being in charge. They probably butted up against each other constantly.

Too many divas in one room was inevitably asking for a catfight, after all.

Bilbo couldn’t help liking Thranduil, however. There was something about the sardonic look in his eye, as if he was perpetually taking the piss out of them all in his head and they just didn’t know it.

For someone who spent a great deal of time commentating on the world in his own head, it built a sense of kinship, even though Bilbo was well aware that Thranduil was probably taking the piss out of him too.

 _Job, Bilbo_ , he reminded himself. _Your job isn’t people-watching. Well, not officially, anyway._

‘Tea or coffee, anyone?’ he asked the various people now clustered in his office, waiting to enter Thorin’s.

As he expected, Balin and Thorin opted for coffee; between them, their coffee dependencies added up to a solid addiction. He thought Dori’s jokes about a tea and coffee intervention might have been the voice of experience talking. Thranduil’s Finance Director, Galion, currently leaning against Bilbo’s desk, also opted for coffee, but Thranduil, Legolas, and the Managing Director, Tauriel, all turned out to be tea drinkers.

‘Bilbo can’t possibly carry all of that in by himself,’ Galion informed them, shaking his head. ‘Go on in, I’ll be with you in a moment.’ Bilbo smiled at him gratefully as the others disappeared into Thorin’s office but waved the offer away.

‘I’ll be fine. Go on, don’t miss the start,’ he said over his shoulder, exiting to the kitchen. Better they get started now, he was thinking, though he didn’t want to say it. Thorin had another meeting in an hour and a half. If they didn’t get a move on, there was a risk Thorin would end up late for that too and then the whole day would be behind.

Bilbo piled everything he needed onto trays as he boiled the kettle and spooned coffee into a big cafetière, offering his usual prayer that it would turn out vaguely drinkable. He never touched coffee himself, being strictly a tea-man, and he had only the instructions of a former colleague to work from.

Ah well, no one had spat his coffee out in front of him yet, even if the first cup he’d ever made had gone mostly undrunk.

Once it was all done, he balanced it ever-so-carefully on the tray and the prayers changed to a whispered command - ‘Don’t fall off, don’t fall off, don’t fall off,’ – all the way into the office and up to Thorin’s door. Then, in the pre-arranged signal he and Thorin had perfected, he very professionally kicked the door three times.

 _Gently_ , of course.

About twenty seconds later, Thorin appeared and took the tray from him. He treated Bilbo to a brilliant smile that was just like Kíli’s, only about 5000W brighter, and Bilbo’s poor heart nearly gave out.

Oh, good lord, was he not over that idiocy yet? After all that had happened in the last few weeks?

 _No_ , he told his hormones in his firmest tone. _Not a chance. We don’t have time and, even if we did, NOT HIM_.

‘Bilbo?’ Thorin asked quietly, prompting Bilbo to realise that he was just standing there, staring.

‘Sorry!’ Bilbo squeaked, then turned and shot back to his desk without another word.

Work. Work was good. Work got you paid.

Developing a crush on your boss did _not_ get you paid. Especially not in this office.

‘Temp 2, Bilbo,’ he reminded himself. ‘Remember what they told you about Temp 2.’

***

He managed, for the best part of a week. Now that Bilbo knew about the merger, Thorin was slowly increasing his workload: getting him to edit documents, draft emails, check over paperwork sent through from Woodland. It made the role more interesting and Bilbo was aware, in the back of his mind, that he was going to miss more than his pay when this job was over. Much more than his pay, considering how fond he was becoming of Fíli, Kíli and the others.

He pushed the thoughts aside, however, and concentrated on the present. He knew how temping worked, pining over it wouldn’t change anything. All he could do was keep looking for permanent jobs and hope someone got back to him about one of them.

If he did a good job here, a reference from the Director of Prospect Publishing might go far, he told himself. Particularly if he was there long enough to mention it separately on his CV.

Sometimes he felt awful for quite literally wishing ill on Thorin’s sister, on Fíli and Kíli’s _mother_ , but… he did need this job, and Fíli had assured him just the other day that her treatment was going wonderfully.

Checking the clock, Bilbo saw that he only had a few more minutes until Thorin’s scheduled call with an agent and author. He was just reaching for the post-it note with the call details when he heard ringing, and his hand was halfway to his office phone before he realised it was his mobile instead.

Oh shit.

At this time of the day, that was either a cold call or…

Bilbo reached down, grabbed the phone from his bag and looked cautiously.

 _Dad calling_.

He glanced at the clock and the post-it again, but… he couldn’t not answer. Not when Dad was having such a low spell. What if…?

He thumbed over to accept the call even as he lifted the phone to his ear.

‘Hi Dad,’ he said as easily as he could. ‘How are you?’

Just as he’d feared, he could already hear sobbing on the other end of the line. Dad tried to speak but Bilbo couldn’t understand a word through the choked sound of his voice.

Oh, Yavanna. Bilbo’s heart clenched with grief for his father, even as the practical side of him couldn’t help glancing at the damned post-it note again.

‘Dad, calm down now, come on,’ he hushed down the phone. ‘I can’t understand you when you’re this upset, you know that. Shh, it’s okay.’

‘It’s _not_ okay,’ Dad managed enough breath to snap at him, before several more cries broke free, and Bilbo rested his elbow on the desk and let his head sink into the hand not holding his phone. Yavanna, but he was tired.

‘Alright,’ he said, making his tone conciliatory, ‘you’re right. That was a stupid thing to say when you’re clearly upset. Can you tell me what’s wrong?’

‘The photograph,’ Dad managed, after several deep breaths. Bilbo was relieved to hear them. If he was trying to speak to Bilbo, to answer his questions instead of just continuing to sob and shout at him, then this wasn’t going to be one of the really bad days like they’d had at the beginning.

Bilbo had thought those days were normal grieving; if grieving _could_ be normal, that is. At least, he’d thought they were the same sort of thing anyone would go through after losing their wife of thirty years.

Away at uni a lot of the time, buried in his PhD work, he hadn’t realised that Dad’s grief had slipped into full depression until he’d had the call to say that Dad, deciding partway through cooking dinner that he no longer cared enough to have it, had left the gas hob on and that the kitchen had caught fire.

Worse, that he’d been ignoring some of the bills for months and they’d had no insurance on the house.

Bilbo would do pretty much anything to stop them getting back to that point. He’d been quite clear with his dad after: Don’t you _ever_ decide not to ‘bother me’ when you feel like that again.

He didn’t regret it. It was just hard to handle, on the bad days.

‘Which photograph, Dad?’ Bilbo asked patiently, making sure Dad had his full attention now.

‘The one from her 23rd birthday party,’ Dad managed, breath still shuddering slightly but voice clear. ‘She looked so beautiful in that photo, Bilbo, and it’s not here.’

***

Bilbo was late.

Thorin checked the clock a second time just to be sure, because Bilbo was never late for anything, but it still told the same story. The call had been due to start a few minutes ago and still no Bilbo.

Thorin pushed to his feet, mildly irritated, and made his way towards Bilbo’s office even as he reminded himself of his resolution. No jumping to conclusions, Thorin, he scolded internally. Perhaps Bilbo had been caught up helping one of the others. It wasn’t as if Thorin couldn’t start the call himself if he needed to; he was capable of using a phone! He just needed the details.

It would have been nice to know about it _before_ he was late to his meeting, however. Now he looked inconsiderate to those he usually had a good working relationship with. He huffed his annoyance as he opened the office door, intending to scan Bilbo’s desk for the information, sure the man would have it to hand.

And came up short when he saw Bilbo sitting at his desk, mobile phone tucked against his ear.

Thorin opened his mouth, ready to ask Bilbo what the hell he thought he was playing at, taking personal calls when he should be working…

 _Bilbo_ , the sensible part of his brain pointed out. _This is Bilbo. Would Bilbo do that for no reason?_

For once, Thorin paid attention to his sensible self, paused and listened.

‘Dad, it won’t be there,’ Bilbo was saying into the phone, oh-so-gently. ‘We lost it in the fire, remember?’

Whatever answer he got made him flinch, and Thorin took two steps forward without even meaning to.

‘Shh, no, don’t cry,’ Bilbo hurried on. ‘Of course I’m not saying it’s your fault. It is what it is, Dad. We don’t have that photo anymore, it can’t be helped. Think of all the others we still have though. There’s the one from your wedding day, that Aunt Belba gave us. Or the one of the three of us, the day I was born. You have all those ones I printed from your anniversary holiday and she’s beautiful in all of those too.’

He shouldn’t be listening to this, Thorin realised. Clearly, Bilbo’s family had suffered at least one, if not two, great losses. Mahal knew, Thorin understood about those. They were private things, not for any nosy passer-by to gawp at.

Walking across the room as quickly as possible, coming around the side so that Bilbo would see him before he reached the desk, he spotted the post-it note and snagged it swiftly. Bilbo looked up at him, then at the post-it, and his dismay could not have been more obvious, even as he made soothing noises down the phone.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he mouthed at Thorin helplessly, but he hadn’t finished before Thorin was shaking his head.

‘Take your time,’ he ordered, squeezing Bilbo’s shoulder once to reinforce the message, before he retreated just as quickly to his own room and dialled the number he held.

 _Thorin has joined the conference_.

‘There you are!’ Faramir, one of his favourite authors, announced. ‘We were beginning to wonder what had happened, considering Bilbo only confirmed this morning.’

‘I’m very sorry,’ Thorin replied, grabbing his notes and settling in. ‘Entirely my fault. I got caught up speaking to Balin, and Bilbo had to come and chase me out. I owe you both a cake the next time we get to meet in person.’

‘I’ll certainly hold you to that,’ Faramir laughed quietly. ‘No struggling author turns down free anything. Unless someone’s about tell me I’m not struggling anymore?’

Not struggling as much as I suspect my PA is, Thorin thought, just before he turned his focus to the sales figures for Faramir’s latest release.

******


	8. Conflicted

Chapter Eight: Conflicted

With his dad finally calmed again, Bilbo felt comfortable putting the phone down with a promise to call that evening. He made a quick call to Dad’s neighbour, Mr Gamgee, who promised to casually check in with Dad at some point later in the afternoon, and breathed a sigh of relief. Mr Gamgee would make sure the more cheerful tone at the end of the conversation hadn’t been completely faked, which was always Bilbo’s biggest fear.

Looking at the time, Bilbo then braced himself to apologise profusely to Thorin for dropping his job in the middle of the day and making Thorin late. Thorin hated being late, Bilbo had picked up on that quickly enough. Dori had introduced Bilbo to an entire office protocol which compensated for Thorin’s terrible sense of direction, all to ensure he wasn’t late to external meetings.

A major part of it involved using the same meeting venues over and over again, because Dís Durin was not a stupid woman.

Bilbo, on the other hand, was feeling an uncomfortable mix of stupid, guilty and embarrassed. Dad had been quiet for days. If he’d just checked on him last night, maybe…

Thorin stepped out of his office and Bilbo’s thoughts snapped back into the present so fast he felt as if someone had fired an elastic band at his forehead.

‘Thorin, I’m so…’ Bilbo began, but Thorin just held up his hand to stop him.

‘Bilbo, it’s fine,’ he said gruffly, walking over to perch on the meeting table by the window. ‘I told you to take your time. Is everything alright now?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ Bilbo said automatically. Then his brain caught up and he stared in slight disbelief. ‘I can work the time back,’ he offered. Thorin scoffed.

‘What?’ he asked. ‘Thirty minutes, at most? I think Prospect will survive, Bilbo.’ Then he looked at Bilbo more closely, and something he saw seemed to prompt a change in his manner. Before, Bilbo realised, he’d just been very matter-of-fact. Now his whole demeanour softened.

‘Nothing I’ve seen in recent weeks suggests that you’re the type to take an unimportant personal call when you have a work commitment,’ Thorin said gently, giving Bilbo an equally gentle smile. ‘Whatever it was, obviously you needed to deal with it then and there. I’m not punishing you for that. It happens to all of us. Not long after she was first diagnosed, Dís called me one day and said I needed to come home. Nothing else, just that. I dropped everything, and people understood. Some days, Bifur simply can’t work any longer because he’s not well enough. He knows he has permission to leave and try again another day, because I know he’ll never use it unless he needs to. That’s how Prospect works.’

Bilbo laughed, and he could hear that the sound was ragged around the edges. ‘You realise you’ve just described employment paradise, don’t you? No wonder you never have to advertise jobs. I’m surprised you don’t have a queue at the door.’

Thorin snorted, one of the first completely undignified noises Bilbo had ever heard him make.

‘What’s the point of running a company staffed by my friends and family if I can’t trust them?’ he asked rhetorically. He paused for a few moments, then asked carefully, ‘Whatever it was, Bilbo… will it be okay?’

‘Yes,’ Bilbo said without thinking, the same answer he always gave on the rare occasion someone asked him about Dad. _Yes, he’s fine, it’s much better now, we’ll be okay_. Then he looked across the room at Thorin’s serious expression, at someone who knew none of the details or background and was nevertheless so kind, and something in him cracked a little. ‘For now, I hope. It’s all a bit… fragile, you see.’ He could feel his mouth and nose twitching, as he held back everything else that could come spilling out if he let it, and hoped Thorin didn’t notice the strange little quirk that had got him laughed at more than once over the years.

Thorin nodded understandingly. ‘These things often are,’ he offered, and Bilbo had a feeling he’d heard more than he was letting on, earlier, and understood more than Bilbo might have guessed. ‘I’ll let you get on with things, Bilbo, but... don’t ever hesitate to answer the phone if you need to. I wouldn’t, if it was my family.’

Then Thorin disappeared into the kitchen - hopefully to get actual food and not in another attempt to subsist entirely on caffeine - and Bilbo slumped as he released tension he hadn’t even realised he’d been carrying.

Was it crazy that he almost wished the man would stop being so nice?

At least with bosses who were a pain in the arse, or just distant, he’d never mourned leaving at the end of the contract.

He’d never developed this sort of terrible crush either.

***

Fíli had a finely-honed sense for bullshit.

It was a basic life-skill, for two main reasons.

  1. He worked in Sales and Marketing, which meant he both listened to and produced marketing bullshit on a daily basis; and
  2. He was Kíli’s older brother.



If a person couldn’t tell when Kíli was feeding them a line, they’d spend a lot of time doing really stupid stuff for his amusement.

They’d also never be able to work out when he’d got in over his head and would, therefore, be less than successful at yanking him back out of trouble again.

Fíli wasn’t the type to accept failure, as a general rule, so he’d learned to identify when someone was talking bollocks early on.

Bilbo Baggins, PA Extraordinaire, tamer of grumpy uncles, and all-around office wonder?

Was trying to con them all today.

Now Fíli just had to work out why.

‘Bilbo, my favourite person, let me hide in here for a while,’ he begged with deliberate melodrama as he sailed through Bilbo’s office door and shut it behind him. ‘If he serenades the room with _There Must Be An Angel_ one more time…’

Bilbo spluttered with laughter before he could stop himself, then gave Fíli a stern look.

‘Some people would be very jealous of the affection your brother showers upon you,’ he informed Fíli, clearly trying to keep a straight face.

‘Yes,’ Fíli said, slowly and deliberately, ‘and if I thought it was aimed at _me_ , I would feel terribly cruel and heartless. Except, he’s actually just found a new sandwich shop and he’s singing to his lunch.’

That was, apparently, too much for Bilbo. He collapsed into gales of laughter that seemed to make it difficult for him to breathe, making little hitching, gasping noises that had Fíli hurrying over to prop him upright in his chair and rub his back.

How rubbing his back was meant to assist with Bilbo’s breathing, he wasn’t entirely sure, but it seemed like the sort of thing that people did in this type of situation.

Uncle appeared in his doorway, looking a mixture of intrigued and concerned, before breaking into a wide smile at Bilbo’s obvious glee. When he began to move forward, Fíli shook his head sternly where Bilbo couldn’t see, mouthing, ‘Shoo!’ quite firmly.

Uncle pouted.

Fíli held his stern expression, calling up his best ‘Balin-face’.

Uncle glared but promptly retreated back into his office.

Much better.

Bilbo certainly wasn’t going to tell Fíli why he had bags under his eyes, and had arrived at work moving like a little old man, while Uncle was in the room.

At least, Fíli presumed not. They _had_ been getting on better recently, but Bilbo still seemed more comfortable with Fíli and Kíli.

Bilbo took a couple of deep breaths, lost control once more after muttering _sandwich_ to himself, then finally got a grip and settled again.

‘So, Kíli’s a happy bunny, then,’ he concluded, giving Fíli the mischievous smile that was quickly becoming Fíli’s favourite. He would very much like another partner-in-crime, and he thought Bilbo would make a good one if they could get him to relax permanently.

‘Alas, yes,’ Fíli responded. ‘Which leaves me less so, and in need of a hideaway. Take pity, Bilbo?’

‘The two of you are ridiculous,’ Bilbo said, but there was no heat behind it. ‘Go on, then. I still have some break left. Pull up a chair.’

Fíli gave a little yip of victory and leaned over to kiss Bilbo’s cheek, startled when Bilbo stiffened at the gesture.

‘Bilbo?’ he asked worriedly, but Bilbo brushed it off with a flick of his hand.

‘It’s nothing,’ he dismissed. Fíli decided to accept that, for now, mostly because it gave him the opening he needed.

‘Alright,’ he said equably. ‘Those bags under your eyes, they nothing, too?’

He was a little startled by the ferocity of the glare Bilbo gave him, but he stood his ground. He was Thorin Durin’s nephew, and Dwalin Fundinson’s… well, he was Dwalin’s. No lesser glare stood a chance of putting him off.

‘You can’t blame a man for asking, Bilbo,’ he said, keeping his voice light and easy. ‘Wouldn’t you worry if one of your friends came to work looking like he’d just spent the night hiding in a tree to escape orcs?’

Bilbo stared at him as if he’d lost his mind, but Fíli was used to that.

‘How do you and Kíli come up with these bizarre similes?’ Bilbo asked, momentarily distracted, and Fíli gave his most charming smile.

‘I claim innocence,’ he insisted. ‘Before Kíli started yodelling, he was reading me parts of his most recent submission. The image stuck. The point still stands, Bilbo,’ he insisted. ‘We’re worried about you.’

Bilbo started to speak, then seemed to think better of it and fell to silence. Fíli considered prompting him, but the way that Bilbo had begun tapping one finger against his leg as if it was his keyboard suggested it was better to let him think a moment.

If Uncle’s experiences had taught them anything, it was that Bilbo had two responses to being pushed and neither of them would help Fíli’s current aim.

He had no desire to see Bilbo shrink in on himself, or to have his ear blistered.

Painful though the patience was, it was rewarded after a short spell.

‘There’s a bit of a problem with the flat,’ Bilbo told him diffidently. ‘It won’t be fixed until next week, and it’s a little hard to sleep until it is. It’s nothing to worry about.’

‘Right,’ Fíli drew out. ‘Is there construction work going on overnight, or something? No,’ he corrected himself, ‘surely the Council wouldn’t allow that. People would be up in arms.’

‘It’s nothing, Fíli, really,’ Bilbo tried, but Fíli wasn’t having that. Close up, it was even more obvious how tense and exhausted Bilbo was. Fíli wasn’t muttering empty words about friendship here, and he didn’t let his friends suffer in silence.

Ori had tried that when they were at uni. He’d decided that he shouldn’t ‘trouble’ Fíli with the fact he was being bullied by some of the other students, because he was ‘just Dori’s little brother; he and Fíli weren’t really _friends_.’

Fíli had worked out something was wrong pretty early into Ori’s first year, but he hadn’t known what it was. So he’d done the only sensible thing.

He’d unleashed Kíli on the other boy and watched him crumble under the weight of puppy eyes and adoration. Then, once Kíli had got the truth out of Ori, he’d visited the offenders and let them know that Ori was far from friendless and they’d just bitten off a whole lot more than they could chew.

He thought Kíli would be a bit much for Bilbo right now, but he was holding that in reserve just in case.

Although, actually, as a… gentle suggestion, it might get him some leverage.

‘I could always bring Kíli in and you could tell him it’s nothing,’ he offered.

Bilbo bristled, and Fíli thought he’d overplayed his hand and was going to be kicked out of the office. He almost cursed. He hadn’t misstepped like that in a long time. Idiot.

Then Bilbo’s gaze caught on the mug on his desk, of all things, and somehow it stopped him in his tracks.

He swallowed, Fíli thought his eyes might be filling with tears for a second before he blinked them away, and then he gave himself a little shake and straightened his back.

‘The heating’s gone out,’ Bilbo said, forcing the words out even as he clenched his hands together, fingers linked so tightly that they turned white. ‘The boiler’s been playing up for a while now, but I was able to coax it into behaving up until mid-week. Then it just,’ he sighed, ‘gave up on me. They can’t fix it properly until next week.’

‘Fucking shit, Bilbo, you’ve got no _heat_?’ Fíli asked, and he could hear the utter incredulity in his own voice and see it in the way that Bilbo flinched. That was not the reaction he wanted at all, so he took a deeper breath and deliberately moderated his tone. ‘It’s been near freezing some nights this week. It must be deathly cold in that flat. No wonder you can’t sleep.’

‘It’s a bit chilly,’ Bilbo admitted, and Fíli made a mental note that Bilbo was a grandmaster of understatement and also _a complete lunatic_.

‘Okay, so, this is where we need a plan,’ Fíli announced, settling on confidence and praying that Bilbo’s admission meant he was willing to accept help now. ‘You’re halfway there, because they’ll have it fixed next week, but you need to be able to sleep in the meantime. So, second half of the plan, you come and stay with us until your place is liveable again.’

‘Fíli, I couldn’t,’ Bilbo objected immediately, and Fíli cursed inwardly. _No, wrong answer, Bilbo_. He might need to bring out the big guns after all.

***

Two steps forward, one step back.

Bilbo felt like his entire life was a game of snakes and ladders, and someone had rigged the dice.

Yavanna, he was tired. He was so tired of being tired.

He shouldn’t have told Fíli about the heating going out. Now the poor man felt responsible for him, felt as if he had to solve Bilbo’s problems, and wasn’t that just what Bilbo had been trying to avoid?

His glance caught on the mug again and he remembered…

No, he wasn’t thinking about that. He had enough problems right now.

 _But that’s the point, isn’t it?_ a little voice whispered in his head. _Look what happened the last time you refused help because you didn’t want to trouble someone else_.

Shut up, Bilbo thought back. I don’t have time for you.

 _Your flat’s not the only thing that’s chilly right now, is it?_ the voice persisted. _The coffee shop was rather icy the last time you went in, too_.

NOT NOW, Bilbo replied, aware that shouting at himself in his own mind probably put his sanity in question but at the end of his tether suddenly. He brought both hands to his temples and rubbed a couple of times, hoping that he just looked tired and headachy, rather than like he was on the verge of a psychotic break of some kind.

‘Why can’t you?’ Fíli asked patiently. ‘We have the room, and I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it. You can hardly be worse than my usual weekend company!’ He gave Bilbo a cheeky grin and Bilbo could feel the pull of it, tempting him to smile back, to give in and let Fíli have his way.

And, suddenly, he wondered if that would be such a bad thing. He didn’t want to burden his colleagues, didn’t want to bring his personal problems into the workplace, but… Fíli was offering. Bilbo had given the polite refusal and he was _still_ offering.

Bilbo was tired, and his flat was freezing, and would it really hurt to accept a warm spare room for a couple of days from people who were becoming friends?

Especially if the alternative might be damaging that friendship?

He’d do something for them in return, Bilbo promised himself. He’d find something they needed help with and get it done. That way he wasn’t just taking.

‘Go on then,’ he said aloud. ‘As long as you’re sure.’

‘Absolutely,’ Fíli replied, looking far too happy for someone who was about to have an unexpected guest for the weekend. ‘It’ll be great, you’ll see. Give me your address, and Kíli and I will pick you up at, say, 6.30. Will that give you time to get everything together?’

‘Definitely,’ Bilbo confirmed, thinking of the meagre belongings he had in his flat here. It would take him 15 minutes to pack enough stuff for a weekend, if that.

‘Perfect,’ Fíli said, holding his hand out for the paper Bilbo was scribbling his address on. Bilbo thought he saw a flash of unhappiness when Fíli looked at the address, but it was gone so quickly that he’d never prove it. ‘We’ll see you later.’

Then he was gone, and Bilbo was left wondering what he’d got himself into.

***

He was still wondering a few hours later, shivering as he stared at the little bag he’d be taking with him and trying to work out how he could prevent Kíli and Fíli entering the flat and seeing how bare it was.

Speed, he decided, grabbing the bag decisively. If he was out the door quickly enough, they’d have no need to come in.

That in mind, he opened the door when he heard a knock and immediately stepped out, pulling the door shut behind him.

‘Well, hello, Bilbo,’ Fíli said teasingly. ‘No, it’s alright, we didn’t want to come in. Thought we’d just head straight off, actually.’

From anyone else, it would have been rude, but Fíli managed to make it light and affectionate, and somehow the teasing fended off the awkwardness that Bilbo had been expecting.

‘Oh, you _wanted_ to freeze your balls off?’ he shot back. ‘So sorry, give me a second, I’ll open back up.’

‘ _Someday I, I won’t have to feel the cold / But I do now, so I’ll know / What it feels like when I feel fire_ ,’ Kíli sang softly, stealing Bilbo’s bag and doing a little dance off down the hallway ahead of them.

‘Now you understand my dastardly plan,’ Fíli told Bilbo archly. ‘You’re my human shield. Or potentially my alibi. If he doesn’t _stop bloody singing instead of talking_ ,’ he raised his voice in Kíli’s direction; Kíli showed no sign of listening to him at all, ‘then I’m going to lock him in a cupboard somewhere. If he complains, you can tell Mum that you were with me all the time and you’ve no idea what he’s talking about.’

‘That bad?’ Bilbo said soothingly, rubbing Fíli’s arm with his unexpectedly empty hand.

‘I love my brother, Bilbo,’ Fíli insisted, ‘I do. I would also very much like to have a conversation that doesn’t involve singing this weekend.’

‘You don’t have to spend all weekend with Kíli,’ Bilbo suggested tentatively. Fíli looked at him as if he’d just said something truly scandalous and Bilbo realised he’d blundered. ‘Never mind,’ he dismissed. ‘Silly thing to say.’

‘He’d be sad if I actually told him to get lost,’ Fíli said quietly. ‘I can’t do that.’

‘No, love,’ Bilbo said, voice equally soft. ‘Of course you can’t. No matter. You’re going to be stuck with me as well, so it won’t come up,’ he added a smile, so the words would be a little less stark.

‘The weekend’s already looking up,’ Fíli insisted. By this time, they were at the car and Bilbo climbed into the back, feeling more relaxed than he’d expected to all weekend.

He was a little surprised when Kíli drove them into a very nice part of the city; it wasn’t the sort of area he’d imagined them living in, but then what did he know? Other than his parents’ house, every place he’d lived had been chosen based on proximity to the uni or rent and council tax band.

Then they pulled into the driveway of a beautiful detached house, and Bilbo was thoroughly confused.

Surely the boys couldn’t afford to live here?

Thorin couldn’t be paying them that well, not at such a small company.

Kíli stopped the car, got out and got Bilbo’s bag from the boot, while Fíli exited on the passenger side and pulled Bilbo’s door open.

‘Come on, Bilbo,’ he said eagerly. ‘Dinner should be ready soon.’

‘Pardon?’ Bilbo asked, startled, even as he instinctively obeyed. ‘Did you leave something cooking?’

‘Sorry?’ Fíli replied, but he was partially distracted by fumbling something that Kíli threw him from the boot. ‘Arsehole, don’t _do_ that,’ he snapped at his brother. ‘One day I’m going to drop it.’

Kíli just laughed and headed for the door while Fíli hefted the bag, much nicer than Bilbo’s own, over his shoulder. Kíli still had Bilbo’s bag and Bilbo hurried after him, feeling as if he was missing something important but not quite able to make the kaleidoscope settle into a pattern.

It all became much clearer – painfully, mortifyingly clear, in fact – bare moments later when Kíli opened the door.

‘We’re home!’ he sing-songed loudly, as he shot through the door. ‘Dwalin, is dinner nearly ready? I’m starving.’

‘Honestly, Kíli, must you proclaim your presence at full volume every…’ Thorin stopped dead, staring at Bilbo with the same level of astonishment that Bilbo was feeling.

Bilbo couldn’t see the same amount of horror, but perhaps Thorin was just better at maintaining a polite mask.

‘Hey Uncle,’ Fíli said casually, behind Bilbo. ‘Why are you looking at us like that? Didn’t Mum mention that Bilbo’s staying for a few days?’

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kíli is completely misusing a line from _Fire_ by Sara Bareilles, having sung _There Must Be an Angel (Playing With My Heart)_ by the Eurythmics to his lunch.


	9. Opportunity

Chapter Nine: Opportunity

There were a few seconds of silence, as Thorin assimilated this new information, and then he slowly told Fíli, ‘No. No, your mother didn’t mention that.’

‘Oh,’ Fíli answered carelessly, ‘must have slipped her mind.’

Well, that was complete bollocks and they both knew it. Dís had a mind like a steel trap. There wasn’t a chance in hell she’d forgotten a weekend visitor, especially considering they hadn’t had one since she became ill.

Thorin almost said something to this effect, he was so rattled by the sudden appearance of his newest employee in his home unannounced, but then he glanced to the side and caught sight of Bilbo’s face.

Which was full of utter embarrassment, and something that looked like horror, and he realised that Bilbo hadn’t had a clue where he was staying either.

‘Yes, it must have,’ Thorin replied instead. ‘Do come in, Bilbo. Just shove the idiot out the way if he insists on standing there like a lump. He’s remarkably hard to damage.’

That got Kíli moving, at least, and Bilbo seemed to move further into the house instinctively, even though he still looked entirely unsure about the whole thing.

Perhaps he was unwilling to let Kíli get too far away from him with his belongings, for Thorin was certain that the bag Kíli held wasn’t his own.

Kíli tended to dispose of things when they started developing holes, not stick them back together.

‘So,’ Kíli said brightly, ‘dinner?’

‘You’d have to ask Dwalin,’ Thorin said firmly. ‘He was cooking something more complicated than spaghetti, this time, so I left the kitchen at speed and haven’t dared to re-enter.’

‘Fondling the knives, was he?’ Fíli asked sagely. ‘I’ll chance it. I’m sure Balin will protect me if he gets overenthusiastic.’

‘I wouldn’t bet on it,’ Kíli muttered under his breath, as Fíli departed. ‘Fíli was a full day and a half late with those sales reports. Dori was _annoyed_.’

Thorin snorted, unable to help himself. Before they could further discuss the consequences of Fíli’s tardiness, however, they heard a summons from the living room.

‘Boys, were you going to decorate the hallway all evening, or were you planning to actually introduce me to our guest?’

***

If this wasn’t men all over, Dís thought to herself, only a little bitterly. Here she was, _dying_ of curiosity (was that joke in poor taste when you had cancer? Oh sod it, she was the one who had it. She’d joke if she wanted to) about the man who’d clearly captured her brother’s interest, and they were all standing out in the hall yacking and leaving her in here on her own.

Oh, other than Fíli, of course, who’d gone in search of the _food_!

She’d half a mind to kick them all out except Bilbo Baggins and just keep him for the weekend.

Possibly Dwalin, too. Life was always easier when you didn’t have to cook.

Would it be odd to keep her work replacement for the weekend and throw everyone he actually knew out of the house…?

Probably.

Perhaps she’d have to put up with her irritatingly tardy relatives after all.

At least they were coming now.

‘Took you long enough,’ she grumbled at them as they entered, standing up to greet them. Then she caught sight of the anxious, overwhelmed look on Bilbo’s face and realised that a proper Durin welcome was _not_ what the lad needed right now.

‘You must be Bilbo,’ she said in a much gentler tone, holding her hand out. He approached to shake it, meeting her eyes with a little difficulty. ‘It’s good to meet you. I’m sorry to hear you’re having problems with your flat, but feel free to stay with us as long as you need.’

‘Thank you,’ Bilbo replied, looking only a little less shell-shocked. Dís, knowing her two terrors as she did, had a sudden realisation.

‘Oh Bilbo,’ she said softly, ignoring the others. ‘They didn’t tell you that they spend the weekends here, did they?’

‘ _No_ ,’ burst out of Bilbo’s mouth forcefully, like a release of pent up emotion. He immediately looked embarrassed and carried on. ‘It’s so good of you to have me, Ms Durin, but I thought…’

‘You thought you’d be spending the weekend with the two of them at their flat,’ Dís finished for him. ‘Not here, surrounded by people you either work with or have never met before. You poor thing, I’d probably have bolted back out the door! I don’t think dinner will be ready for another 20 minutes yet. Why don’t we get you settled into the spare room, and you can have a little time to yourself?’

As she’d suspected he might, Bilbo grasped onto that suggestion like a lifeline; peace and quiet, without having to offend his hosts or insist on going to the boys’ flat instead. It must sound like a holiday in Valinor.

She wondered when, or if, it would occur to him that, if she was being truly kind, she could have made the boys take him back to their flat for the weekend.

Dís knew her own faults, however. She had the Durin streak of ruthlessness, just as they all did, and she wanted to see Bilbo and Thorin together after all she’d heard.

She wasn’t going to give up her best chance, even if it would make Bilbo more comfortable.

In fact…

‘Thorin, show Bilbo where the spare room is, would you?’ she asked firmly. ‘I need to speak to Kíli a moment.’

Kíli gulped, but Thorin just held one hand out for Bilbo’s bag and made an ‘after you’ gesture with his other hand to get Bilbo to precede him from the room.

Once Dís was certain Bilbo was out of earshot, she turned to her son and glared.

‘That was either thoughtless or callous, Kíli, and I very much hope it was the former…’

***

‘It’s this way,’ Thorin guided him, taking them back into the entryway and up stairs Bilbo hadn’t noticed, half-hidden as they were behind a wall. Now that he wasn’t suffering from terminal mortification, Bilbo could see just how beautiful Dís’ home was, light and airy and modern despite being a slightly older house.

‘It’s gorgeous,’ he murmured to Thorin, for the sake of having something to say, and Thorin gave him one of those stunning smiles that tended to stop his heart.

‘Dís has done a wonderful job with it over the years,’ he agreed. ‘It made sense for her to have the family home when our parents passed away, but it looks much better in her care than it ever has done.’

‘Oh,’ Bilbo said, startled into more than pleasantries, ‘you grew up here?’

‘I did,’ Thorin confirmed. Then, impossibly, his smile widened just a touch. ‘In fact, this was once my room,’ and he opened the door to what must be the spare.

The walls were the clear blue of a summer sky, and almost everything else was white, with the occasional blue-green accent. Bilbo felt as if he’d tumbled onto the beach from one moment to the next, especially with the ocean scenes Dís had placed on the walls, and the little beach lantern on the chest of drawers.

‘She’s changed it a little since then, of course,’ Thorin said mischievously, and Bilbo heard a nervous little giggle issue from his mouth. Immediately, he wanted to slap himself.

He hadn’t sounded that vapid since he was a teenager.

Actually, he might have sounded less vapid as a teenager. He’d been very nerdy, and not all that inclined to giggle over boys.

He was going to blame it on the shock, as he had so many things since he’d begun working at Prospect.

‘Bilbo, what’s this about problems at your flat?’ Thorin asked seriously, taking him rather by surprise. ‘I asked you what was wrong earlier and you said nothing.’

‘Oh, well, it isn’t anything very much,’ Bilbo said hurriedly, desperately trying to downplay the issue. ‘Just some repair work that can’t be done until next week. I was going to stay at home, but you know what Fíli’s like. He doesn’t take no for an answer.’

Unfortunately, rather than dismissing Thorin’s questions, this seemed to have the opposite effect. A look of comprehension came over his face – or perhaps of remembering – and then his concern sharpened into a frown suddenly.

‘What sort of repair work?’ he queried sharply, and Bilbo’s back drew straight automatically in response to the tone.

‘The heating, if you must know,’ Bilbo shot back. ‘It’ll be done next week.’

‘You didn’t have any _heat_?’ Thorin responded, clearly horrified, and Bilbo’s nerves disappeared entirely in a growl of frustration.

‘Why do people keep _saying that_?’ he asked frustratedly. ‘It was only a day or two!’

‘Bilbo, it’s NOVEMBER,’ Thorin exclaimed, voice rising before he glanced at the door and deliberately dropped it again. ‘It’s bloody freezing out there.’

‘Really? I thought it was practically tropical,’ Bilbo retorted sarcastically; mostly because, at this point, he was rather ashamed that he’d been stupid enough to try and live in an unheated flat during one of the coldest months of the year. If he’d reported the problem with the heating earlier, when the twins had first scolded him about it, it would probably have been fixed by now.

‘You should have told me when I asked,’ Thorin insisted, and Bilbo came so close to saying a number of things. That he wasn’t obliged to tell his boss what was happening in his personal life. That it wasn’t Thorin’s problem. That there would have been nothing Thorin could do (even though that was clearly a lie, considering where Bilbo was currently standing).

He bit them all down and went for the less stupid, ‘It’s all worked out anyway. I told Fíli, and here I am.’

Thorin didn’t seem to have a response to that. He swallowed visibly, but his next words were a simple, ‘Make yourself comfortable. One of the boys will no doubt holler when the food’s ready.’

Then he left the room, and left Bilbo thoroughly confused.

Why did he feel that he’d somehow upset Thorin, even though he’d managed to control his tongue?

***

By the time he shouted Bilbo for dinner, Kíli was feeling rather chastened. He and Fíli hadn’t _meant_ to upset Bilbo or make him feel awkward. It hadn’t really occurred to them to mention which house they were going to.

That sounded really daft now, but they often spent the weekends with Mum. They’d drop their stuff off after work on Friday, head out with friends, then come back in the early hours so that they could spend Saturday morning lazing around where someone would spoil them.

Or deliberately clatter the pans really loudly to aggravate their hangovers, sometimes, but that was half the fun. It wasn’t family if you weren’t winding each other up somehow.

When Fíli had told Bilbo ‘come and stay with us’, _us_ had automatically meant _him and Kíli and Mum and Uncle and Dwalin and probably Balin too_.

In hindsight, yes, that was something they should have told Bilbo but… you sort of forgot that other people didn’t understand your mental shorthand when you spent so much time with people who’d known you all your life.

When Bilbo appeared at the bottom of the stairs, Kíli smiled at him, but it must have looked rather sheepish because Bilbo immediately gave a soft chuckle.

‘Left your ears ringing, did she?’ he asked dryly, and Kíli could feel himself blushing. He didn’t blush often. It wasn’t a feeling he liked.

‘We didn’t…’ he started, and Bilbo just shook his head.

‘I know, Kíli,’ he confirmed. ‘The two of you aren’t the type to deliberately make someone uncomfortable. At worst, it would have been a joke you hadn’t thought through very well.’

‘It wasn’t,’ Kíli protested immediately. ‘We wouldn’t play a joke on you when we’d offered to help you, Bilbo!’

‘Alright, alright,’ Bilbo accepted, seeming a bit startled by Kíli’s vehemence. ‘Anyway, no harm done. I imagine the room I’ve just settled into is a lot nicer than your spare room. I feel like I’m in a hotel!’

Kíli laughed, reassured and relieved.

‘Mum does keep the place a bit like a B&B,’ he commented. ‘Our spare room has more boxes in it. We never quite finished unpacking everything she chucked at us as we left. Ooh, and this place has the benefit of Dwalin’s cooking. Come on,’ he said, grabbing Bilbo’s arm, ‘you’ll see. For someone who spent his whole life in the army, the man cooks like a trained chef.’

Honestly, he and Fíli had been spending more Friday evenings at Mum’s lately, too, for a variety of reasons. Going out every weekend was getting a bit boring as they got older and, more importantly, they wanted to see more of Mum now she wasn’t well to be sure she was okay.

They couldn’t tell her that, of course, but loud claims that they were here for the food made a really good cover story.

And Dwalin _was_ a very good cook.

***

Balin wasn’t sure whether to thank the boys or to clout the pair of them.

Admittedly, Thorin’s fluttering over Bilbo added a new dimension to the pining he dealt with on a regular basis, and variety was the spice of life, etc, etc.

On the other hand: good god, were Dís and Dwalin not enough for him to deal with? Did he need his other best friend at it as well?

And _obliviously so_ , as well, which just made it worse.

Sometimes he thought Mahal was punishing him for something, truly he did.

Dís and Dwalin were such a low level of romantic drama, after all these years. Dwalin had been distraught when she’d fallen in love with and married Vili, in his own Dwalin fashion, but that was years ago now. He’d not long joined the army and he’d soon been posted away, given time to dull the edges of his heartbreak. For a few years, Balin and Thorin had gone out to visit him when he’d taken leave, and he’d only made short visits home. Dís hadn’t appeared to notice anything wrong, and Dwalin had been typically stoic about the whole thing.

Then Vili had died, with the boys so small, and Dís had been clinging on by her fingernails. Balin had told Dwalin quite firmly to claim a family emergency and get his arse back sharpish, thinking she could use all the friends she could get, but they’d all been surprised by how firmly both Dís and the boys had clung on to him in those early days.

Perhaps they shouldn’t have been. Dwalin was so rock solid; he made a very good port in a storm.

Fíli and Kíli had been devastated when Dwalin had to go back on duty and, after that, every leave Dwalin had was spent at home so the boys could see him.

That Dís insisted he stay with them, and the four of them practically melded into a family each time, seemed to escape both Dís and Dwalin, much to Balin’s intense frustration. He’d heard a young Fíli and Kíli telling other children who teased them that ‘their Dad was in the army, so they’d better be careful’ at least twice, so Mahal knew that the boys had worked it out!

All Dwalin would ever say was that Dís was still grieving, or that he’d make a poor proposition while he was still enlisted (which was bloody ridiculous, lots of soldiers were married with children).

Dís flat out pretended not to know what Balin was talking about.

Eventually he’d just given up, and gritted his teeth whenever they were being particularly pathetically in love.

Of course, before it had never lasted for months at a time! He was going to grind his teeth to stubs at this rate.

Thorin… well, knowing Thorin, he’d likely be more dramatic. If he made Balin suffer like this for 20 years, Balin was going to bash his head in with a rock.

Dori would help him, Balin was sure of it.

Though it would be difficult for Bilbo to remain oblivious if Thorin continued glancing at him every five seconds like a mooncalf, completely failing to join the conversation.

Balin kicked him, mostly because he was frustrated, and he could.

When Thorin gave him a baffled look, Balin looked deliberately at him, then at Bilbo, then back at Thorin and rolled his eyes pointedly.

And Thorin… Thorin blushed, and huffed as he looked down at his plate.

Oh, sweet Yavanna, save him from fools.

Mahal was going to do him no good at this point. Honestly, he might need Nienna to weep for his suffering and offer him mercy.

***

If Balin didn’t stop rolling his eyes at him, Thorin was going to stab him with a fork.

He’d have tried the knife, but he figured something blunter and with three tines might hurt more.

There was no need for Balin to be such a prat, or for whatever he was trying to imply with all his… overblown facial expressions.

Thorin was only trying to be sure that Bilbo was alright. He’d had a very rough couple of weeks, after all, and a Durin family dinner wasn’t generally for the faint-hearted. Especially if you came from a small family, which Thorin had the impression Bilbo did.

It was reassuring to see Bilbo relax as the meal went on and the boys made sure to be at their most entertaining for him, regaling him with tales of their childhood in this house and the chaos they’d caused.

The time Dís and Thorin had had to re-plaster the wall after Kíli fell down the stairs and put his fist through it.

The time Fíli, only three, decided to ‘fly’ off the kitchen counter with his spoon and spatula wings, and Vili almost leapt the kitchen table to catch him before he hit the floor.

Both of them sliding down the bannister to greet Dwalin on a visit home, launching off the end and taking the poor man down in a heap.

‘I wouldn’t have minded so much,’ Dwalin rumbled, fond amusement colouring his voice, ‘if _that one_ ,’ he pointed his knife at Fíli, who instinctively leaned back in his chair, ‘hadn’t managed to land his foot in my balls.’

‘I didn’t know what I was doing!’ Fíli protested, though he was laughing. ‘I was six, I didn’t even realise it was a delicate area yet.’

‘And she was no help either,’ Dwalin added, knife now flicking in Dís’ direction, ‘cackling like a banshee so hard she couldn’t even get them off me.’

‘Still one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen,’ Dís managed, eyes alight with merriment in a way that made Thorin grin back without thought. ‘Pity I didn’t get it on camera. I’d have made a fortune on that funny video programme.’

‘You’re a vicious bitch, Dís Durin,’ Dwalin told her, not managing to sound anything other than affectionate.

‘I’m a Durin,’ Dís riposted, as if this should be obvious. ‘Now stop trying to scare my guest off, all of you. He’ll think I run a madhouse.’

‘He’d be right,’ Thorin muttered under his breath, and was rewarded with a little grin from Bilbo. ‘They’d like you to think it stopped when the boys got older,’ he informed Bilbo. ‘Don’t believe them. Kíli fell down the stairs just two months ago. The only thing that saved the plasterwork is the fact he lands better than he used to.’

‘Tattletale,’ Kíli accused, sticking his tongue out but showing his usual lack of shame.

‘Goodness, the lot of you would have given my parents culture shock,’ Bilbo laughed, sinking back into his chair. He was the picture of utter contentment as he abandoned his mostly empty plate, and Thorin felt a wave of warmth flow through him.

‘Quiet family?’ Dís asked knowingly, and Bilbo nodded.

‘Oh yes,’ he confirmed. ‘Mum travelled a lot when she was young - she did that instead of going to university, you see - but she didn’t really go again after she married Dad. He’s a homebody, and he liked to holiday in this country. “Plenty to see around here, no need to go haring off abroad,” he’d say. They only had me, and I liked my adventures in books for the most part. I wasn’t one for hurtling up and down the stairs. I decided to run away and find elves once, when I was young, and it caused such a fuss that I behaved impeccably after that.’

His smile was affectionate and mostly untroubled, but there a hint of sadness behind it that made Thorin wonder if perhaps there’d been so much love for this only child that it had been a bit smothering; that it had dampened the spark of an adventurous spirit.

Dís seemed to spot it too, for she moved the conversation along smoothly, asking if anyone wanted dessert and telling Kíli and Fíli to get the plates gathered up. When they sat back down for pavlova, she started a conversation about everyone’s plans for the weekend without a pause.

Thorin had originally intended to spend most of his weekend at his own flat, catching up on chores and reading some books from another publishing house that he hadn’t got around to.

Now, he thought he might be spending time at his sister’s instead.

Bilbo had made it quite clear, earlier, that he didn’t see Thorin as a friend in the way that he did Fíli and Kíli.

Maybe this weekend would be an opportunity to change that.

******


	10. Skirmishing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It will become even more apparent in this chapter that I'm mixing Tolkien-ish and modern-ish elements into the story as it pleases me :) I didn't want to choose one or the other, so I'm combining them depending on what suits the story.

Chapter Ten: Skirmishing

Saturday morning began as Fíli’s Saturday mornings so often did.

Mum’s absolutely spectacular fry-up.

Or, in this case, Balin’s absolutely spectacular fry-up, spectacularly overseen by Mum, but no-one was going to complain about that unless they’d got particularly bored of living.

Balin wasn’t a fan of cooking, on the whole, not like Mum and Dwalin were, but he could fry stuff with the best of them.

Fíli loved Mum’s kitchen. The muted purple-grey walls were very soothing in the early morning light – what there was of it in November – and made the room feel warm despite the long marble counters that took up a good chunk of the room. The green, white, grey and cream tile wall over the cooker was also a welcome splash of colour when the mornings got dreary in winter, even if it was now mostly hidden by Balin’s quick, efficient movements as he switched from one pan to the next.

Most importantly, Mum had chosen the most comfortable chairs in existence to surround her kitchen table, so Fíli could slouch down and feel almost like he was back in bed until breakfast was ready.

Kíli looked like death warmed over, which he always did in the mornings whether they’d been out the night before or not. Dwalin was hovering protectively over his coffee mug as if he was expecting someone to try and take it from him (but then, Dwalin had spent years being served extremely bad coffee, so one had to make allowances for his deep attachment to the good stuff). Bilbo was perched on the chair next to Fíli, looking more awake than any of them. It seemed as if some of his original nerves had come back, but at least he looked like he’d had a good night’s sleep.

Uncle appeared to be hiding. Fíli wasn’t surprised. Uncle and Balin’s friendship could withstand practically anything except the two of them in a kitchen whilst one of them was cooking.

He’d turn up when the food was ready.

‘Coffee,’ Mum announced, sticking a cup in front of Kíli to try and defeat the zombie. ‘Tea,’ she told Bilbo, passing him a bright blue mug. ‘Tea that shouldn’t even be _classed_ as tea, you horrible changeling who didn’t come from my womb,’ she informed Fíli. He merely batted his eyelashes at her. Mum had _opinions_ about tea.

Mum had opinions about most things, honestly.

Never mind, as long as she gave him his tea properly.

‘Black pudding, Bilbo?’ Balin asked, as he began serving up along one long counter. ‘Someone tell Thorin he can come out now, would you?’

‘I’ll get him,’ Dwalin said, heaving himself up, even as Bilbo politely replied, ‘Oh, no, thank you.’ Then there was a little bit of chaos as everyone tried to get into the right place without getting in each other’s way and failed miserably.

Uncle arrived in the middle of Balin handing out plates and managed to snag his with expert timing, giving a warm smile in response to Balin’s sly wink.

‘No strychnine in it, then?’ he asked dryly, beginning part of an old ritual that always made Fíli smile.

‘Too bitter,’ Balin said, offering his lines. ‘I went for arsenic.’

‘I’d just strangle the pair of you,’ Mum finished the trilogy. ‘Much more satisfying.’

They all laughed, and Uncle manoeuvred carefully into the seat opposite Bilbo, whilst trying to look as if it wasn’t deliberate at all.

Bilbo who, yet again, looked slightly stunned but even more wistful. Dwalin got a similar look sometimes, when he saw the little traditions they’d built in his absences, which was part of the reason Fíli and Kíli had always made sure he was in the midst of everything they did when he was home.

They hadn’t wanted him to get the idea he wasn’t needed, and then have another dad disappear on them.

 _Anyway_ , that didn’t seem to be quite what was happening with Bilbo. It was more like… like he was seeing something he’d been familiar with once but hadn’t encountered in a long time; like bittersweet memories.

Fíli had the feeling a lot Bilbo’s memories were bittersweet.

‘Is there anything you need to do this weekend, Bilbo?’ Uncle asked while Fíli was musing away. ‘Before this pair completely take over your life.’ Kíli, who’d now moved from ‘zombie’ to ‘early primate’ with the addition of caffeine, stuck his tongue out at Uncle.

‘Not really,’ Bilbo answered, a little hesitantly. ‘There are some things I normally do but… well, they can wait,’ Fíli saw Uncle’s eyes sharpen at the same time his own ears pricked up. There was something behind that tone, he was sure of it. Still, Uncle didn’t push and Fíli didn’t think family breakfast was the right place either. ‘I will need to get some shopping,’ Bilbo said rather more firmly, after a moment, ‘and phone my Dad on Sunday. That’s about it.’

‘We can work around that,’ Fíli assured him. ‘We’ll have to get food, too. We don’t spend all our time eating here.’

‘Certainly feels like you do,’ Dwalin grumbled, and Fíli just rolled his eyes.

‘If you cooketh, they will come,’ he told his almost-dad, ‘and mostly you cooketh far too much for just you and Mum, so cometh we do.’

‘You know,’ Dwalin told Mum, ‘I could have sworn we educated them. Sent them to a good university and everything. Then he opens his mouth, and I wonder if I dreamt it all.’

Bilbo chuckled along with everyone else, and Fíli saw Uncle grinning at him and Bilbo blushing. This really was very cute. He hadn’t meant to matchmake when he brought Bilbo here for the weekend, but if he could help out a bit…

Well, why not? Uncle was the one who’d taught them about doing good deeds for those less fortunate.

When it came to dealing with other people, Uncle was definitely less fortunate.

‘You educated me well enough in certain things,’ he told them all grandly. ‘Things like… drumroll please, Brother Dear…,’ Kíli had, thankfully, reached a point where he could fulfil that instruction, ‘the importance of Yuletide.’ He produced a leaflet for the Yule Market from the pocket of his hoodie, making Kíli whoop with excitement.

So they’d never grown up. Sue them.

Fíli put the leaflet down on the table and slid it across to Bilbo, who picked it up and began scanning the contents as if he’d never heard of the thing. Even though it was a yearly event and had been plastered everywhere for weeks.

‘You’re coming, right, Uncle?’ Fíli asked, offering him a mischievous smile. Uncle looked confused, probably wondering why this weekend, when they normally went mid-December. Especially as Mum was getting stronger by the day and might be ready to go by then.

Fíli tapped the table, apparently idly, then flicked his fingers in Bilbo’s direction.

Bilbo, whose eyes had lit up as he read about the market stalls, the food, the light display in the city’s gardens, the ice sculptures you could go to see (for a small fee, of course, but Fíli had a plan for that).

Uncle looked over at Mum, catching her eye when she stopped gazing at Bilbo herself.

She nodded sharply at him. _We can go twice_ , she mouthed quickly.

‘Of course I am,’ Uncle answered easily, as if none of the silent communication had just happened. ‘You don’t think I’m unleashing the pair of you on Yule unsupervised, do you? The city would never forgive me.’

‘Yes,’ Kíli crowed, playing his part to perfection without even being briefed on what it was. ‘Yule food, Yule wine, Yule music…’ he shot to his feet, suddenly full of energy, and headed off to get ready.

‘He’s only just had breakfast,’ Balin sighed wearily, but without much surprise. Still, he was drowned out by Fíli’s own groan.

‘Oh Mahal, what have I done?’ he moaned. When they all stared at him, he just repeated, horrified, ‘ _Yule music_.’

***

There was, of course, music at the market. Bilbo could hear it even before they entered, songs that he hadn’t bothered to pay proper attention to for years, probably. Neither of his parents had been the type to break into song, though they’d thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the Yuletide celebrations.

Bilbo hadn’t bothered to celebrate for the last couple of years. At first there’d been too much else going on to even notice what time of year it was (other than that Dad got worse as Yuletide approached), and recently he hadn’t had the money for anything but necessities.

It was harder to ignore the music when Kíli began humming softly in his ear and was soon singing quietly to himself as he bounced along. He attracted more than a few amused glances from passers-by, most of them cheerful ones. The anticipation of the season tended to bring out the best in most people, and the atmosphere around them buzzed with excitement and good cheer.

The other reason Bilbo hadn’t celebrated in recent years. All that build-up had felt like an unintentional kick in the teeth from the rest of the world when he’d known it wouldn’t lead to anything good for him.

Yavanna, he was maudlin today. He shook himself slightly and focused on Kíli’s buoyant happiness until a smile spread across his face.

It was better now. Things were better now than they’d been since Mum died. These people had made him their friend when he should have been a random employee, and were helping him when he needed it.

What was there to be maudlin about?

 _There’s still the twi…_ , his mind started.

Bilbo told it to take a long walk off a short pier.

Oddly, it listened. Possibly because Thorin chose that moment to murmur in his ear, ‘Are you alright, Bilbo?’

‘What?’ Bilbo replied articulately, thrown by the puff of warm air against his ear, ruffling his hair, and the warm bulk of Thorin’s body closer than he’d expected him. ‘Oh, yes, thank you. I’m fine. Just thinking.’

‘Judging by your face, we need to give you more cheerful things to think about,’ Thorin said perceptively, and Bilbo _blushed again_ , curse all the Valar. This had passed ridiculous and hurtled into pathetic. His boss was only talking to him and Bilbo kept blushing all the time.

Sweet Yavanna, he was meant to be an adult. A professional.

 _He really is very pretty_ , Bilbo’s mind supplied helpfully.

Had anyone every survived a lobotomy, Bilbo wondered. The option was seeming more attractive all the time.

‘If we make Kíli any more cheerful, I think he might light the entire market single-handed,’ Bilbo managed to say. Mostly he was grateful that he hadn’t made a comment about how blue Thorin’s eyes were, or something equally inane.

Boss, Bilbo. He’s your boss, he reminded himself.

He blamed the fact he kept forgetting that on Thorin’s jeans, the ridiculous number of sparkly little lights draped everywhere across the market, and Thorin smiling at him so constantly.

He shouldn’t be allowed to smile. Bilbo would like to apply for a ban. He was easier to dislike when he was frowning all the time.

‘If happiness was a magical power, it would be Kíli’s,’ Thorin said fondly, and he was _smiling_ again, damn him. ‘That and pouting. Fíli tries, but he’ll never be as good at pouting as Kíli. Youngest child syndrome. His mother’s exactly the same.’

‘You never pouted a day in your life, of course,’ Bilbo shot out, without thinking. Apparently he could still talk to Thorin, but only if he didn’t think about it first.

Well, this would be interesting!

‘Never,’ Thorin lied blatantly. Then, more seriously, ‘Or only until I realised Dís and our brother, Frerin, were both better at it than I was. Then I started sending them to do it for me. Dís was pretty hard to convince, but Frerin was Fíli all over. Soul of a con artist; he’d extract some sort of payment from me, then use the whole thing as a chance to practice his skills for later.’

Bilbo burst into a fit of involuntary laughter, gaze darting to Fíli as he tried to envision him running that sort of scam as a child.

 _I have basically made a career out of getting my own way_ , he heard Fíli say, his mind playing back a memory.

Alright, yes, he could see it. It made him a little nervous, actually. Fíli had manoeuvred Bilbo a lot in the last few days, after all, and who was to say why he was doing any of it…

‘He’s not a master criminal, Bilbo,’ Thorin said quietly, and Bilbo realised that _he_ would certainly never be a master criminal if his thoughts were so easy to read. ‘Just a little prone to convincing people to do what he thinks is good for them. Don’t we all try to encourage our friends to make good decisions, when we can?’

And Bilbo’s tension deflated like a popped balloon. Thorin was right. Bilbo had been around true manipulators before – universities were huge communities, you got all sorts – and Fíli really didn’t strike him as the type.

He gave Thorin a small smile, as they continued walking, and noted that Thorin looked relieved. Probably glad that Bilbo hadn’t started an argument in the middle a public place. Then he caught Bilbo’s sleeve, as they passed a seating area set up amongst the food and drink stalls, and pulled him to one side.

‘Give me one moment, I’m going to release the hounds,’ Thorin said, nonsensically, before whistling sharply. Fíli and Kíli, who’d been a little way ahead, turned and came back to them. ‘Alright, you two, normal arrangement then?’

‘Yep,’ Fíli agreed immediately. ‘Kíli’s going that way,’ he pointed down the steep slope to the lower gardens and the bottom half of the market, ‘and I’m staying up here. Both scouts will report back to you at… wherever you’re going to be.’

Thorin looked around for a moment, then pointed himself. ‘Mulled wine and hot chocolate,’ he said with great satisfaction. ‘Sounds like my sort of place. As usual, whoever finds your mother’s present gets the privilege of handing it to her. Bilbo, do you want to go with one of them?’

‘I… don’t actually know what’s going on right now?’ Bilbo replied, aware of the question clear in his voice. He had a suspicion what they were doing, of course, but the Durins were so close that listening to them often felt like translating another language.

Or, as he had this morning, looking through a mirror at the life he used to have. When Mum was still alive, and he had a family with in-jokes and their own shorthand.

But that was maudlin again, so he pushed it away.

‘Fíli and I do a sweep of the market every year,’ Kíli explained eagerly, ‘to find the best stuff. The stalls that are worth looking at and aren’t just full of kitsch. Then we come and get Uncle and whoever else is with us, have a drink and take them to look. The old people can’t handle crowds anymore,’ he teased, nudging at Thorin with his shoulder and hip.

‘This old person spent too many years hauling you around on his shoulders, so you wouldn’t get lost in the crowds, and it’s worn his poor body out,’ Thorin complained. ‘The privilege of old age is getting you to do the hard graft so I don’t have to. Bilbo, wine and hot chocolate, or Yule stalls?’

‘Hot chocolate, I think,’ Bilbo answered, eyeing the crowds. Being shoved around by that mass of people, probably clonked by elbows and bags every couple of minutes, seemed a lot less attractive right now than having a nice warm cup of hot chocolate.

He had a little extra money now, with his first few pay packets from Prospect through. He could afford a cup.

Maybe he’d get another one at the Dell, once the twins had thawed a little. Drink it hot this time.

Besides, Thorin was right. Why do the hard work when Kíli and Fíli could do it for them?

‘Good plan,’ Thorin told him sagely. ‘You two, go.’

They were off like a shot, and Thorin just shook his head as he guided Bilbo to one of the high tables nearby so they could sit. Bilbo hated high tables. They inevitably came with high stools, which were a torture device designed by people who had long legs to make short people look ridiculous.

‘The enthusiasm of youth,’ Thorin sighed, sounding much like Balin had that morning.

‘I think Fíli and I are the same age,’ Bilbo pointed out, and Thorin looked at him balefully.

‘Mahal, don’t tell me that,’ he muttered. ‘I feel old enough as it is.’

‘You’re a big fan of delegating, aren’t you?’ Bilbo teased, proving that his inability to think before speaking was still fully in effect. ‘Your dirty work to your brother and sister, the hard work now to your nephews…’

‘Most of the work in my company to my long-suffering Managing Director and underpaid PA?’ Thorin queried, which made Bilbo splutter on the breath he’d been taking. Thorin snorted – it was unattractive, Bilbo told himself, _it was_ – and continued, ‘What’s the point of being the eldest in the family, or the Director of the company, if I can’t get some advantage from it? They say shit rolls downhill, but that only happens because it’s been dumped out of the sky onto me first.’

He was mostly joking, Bilbo could tell, but there was a grain of truth in it that Thorin perhaps hadn’t intended Bilbo to see. The company was a lot of responsibility, especially at the moment with the merger taking place, and Thorin perhaps worried about it more than Bilbo had realised.

Not that sending his nephews off Yule shopping was going to ease his concerns about the merger, of course, but it did sound like he’d spent most of his life being in charge. Perhaps less surprising that he commanded and delegated so easily.

Thorin quirked his lips in something that wasn’t quite a smile, this time, and he rested his elbow on the table and his head on his hand. ‘On a serious note, the boys love this game. It’s something their parents did with them as children. Dís taking one of them, Vili taking the other, then the two of them mapping their plan of attack while we all had a drink and ate. They were so proud, the first year she sent them on their own. Now it lets them pretend they haven’t grown up. Physically, of course. Mentally, they’re both still five.’

‘We used to make paper chains for the house, and bake decorated biscuits to have in each room,’ Bilbo told him impulsively. ‘Dad has a sweet tooth, so he always baked with me. It’s a wonder the two of us weren’t the size of a house by the time Yuletide was over. Actually, we made a fantastic gingerbread house one year; Mum had half the street over to see it.’

‘The boys would love to see that,’ Thorin told him, and Bilbo felt a flush of warmth at the keen interest on his face. ‘So would I. Dís and Dwalin like to cook, but none of us bake well. Dís always says she can produce something edible, but it looks like it should be fed to the dog so she’d rather just buy it in instead.’

‘I don’t know if I could do it now,’ Bilbo hedged automatically, then thought of his promise that he’d do something for Fíli and Kíli in return for their help. They loved Yule, he’d seen that so clearly, and Yavanna knew they’d probably love the mess of baking Bilbo’s way.

Why not?

‘I can give it a go,’ he said more decisively. ‘I just need to find a recipe… and possibly borrow your sister’s kitchen,’ he added, as the other key flaw in his plan occurred to him. Curse it, he’d need ingredients and somewhere to bake, and he could hardly do it in his tiny kitchen.

‘Bilbo, if you say the words “gingerbread house” to those two, I promise they will have you chained to the oven tomorrow,’ Thorin said wryly. ‘Borrowing the kitchen will not be a problem.’

‘I don’t think a chain would be very efficient,’ Bilbo murmured absently, still contemplating ingredients and recipes. ‘I’d get caught on all the cupboard door handles.’

He only came back to himself when Thorin burst into gales of laughter, and Bilbo realised what he’d said.

Sod blushing. Bilbo buried his face in his hands and refused to come out for a full two minutes.

***

His guided tour of the market, courtesy of the younger Durins, was a treat that made Bilbo wish he could be just a little freer with his money. There were so many gorgeous things he could have bought to liven up his dreary flat, but he settled for purchasing a beautifully carved photo frame for his dad, to hold one of the remaining pictures of Mum.

Hopefully Dad would like it, and it would cheer him up rather than prompting another down day.

Thorin insisted that they grab a burger at that point, claiming his stomach thought his throat had been cut, and somehow ended up paying for Bilbo’s as well as they ordered. Bilbo was going to protest, but Fíli was suddenly a man on a mission, ushering them all through the market even as they ate.

‘Fíli, where are we going?’ Thorin asked in exasperation, trying to hold his burger together whilst dodging other pedestrians, but Fíli just called back, ‘You’ll see!’

He was right, of course. They did see, as soon as they rounded the corner of the market and were faced with the giant sign reading ‘The Frozen Land: Ice Sculptures’.

‘Ohhh,’ Kíli breathed. Then, bare seconds later, ‘I want to see the dragon!’

‘I’m sure they’ll let you see all of the sculptures once we get inside,’ Thorin replied, sounding so much like the tolerant parent of a toddler that Bilbo bit his lip to hide amusement. He almost broke when Thorin looked at him and raised his eyes to the heavens.

Fíli pulled them into the queue which snaked around the huge white marquee, with Bilbo still desperately trying to finish the last of his food. He was painfully aware that he probably looked a right state after scoffing the thing on the move but was slightly reassured by the fact that Kíli had tomato sauce on one cheek (which the other two were pointedly not mentioning) and Fíli was looking rather more windswept than earlier.

Of course, windswept on Fíli was a _good_ look rather than ‘dragged through a hedge backwards’, but Bilbo was accustomed to life being unfair.

It wasn’t until they reached the front of the queue, and a cheerful-looking girl in a brightly-coloured costume asked for their tickets and timeslot, that it occurred to Bilbo that Fíli had bought all these tickets while no one was looking.

Which meant he’d been prevented from paying for himself yet again.

‘How much was the ticket?’ he asked Fíli quietly as they entered (and joined yet another queue, of course, because queuing was eternal).

‘Hardly anything,’ Fíli fudged. ‘I just bought them all together.’

‘ _Fíli_ ,’ Bilbo objected, and Fíli started to look obstinate.

‘It was only a fiver, Bilbo. It doesn’t matter.’

‘Then I can pay you for it, can’t I?’ Bilbo said carefully, pulling his wallet out. He actually had a fiver inside, which saved him from an embarrassing moment. When Fíli began to argue, Bilbo became more forceful. ‘I’m staying with your mum, eating food that she bought, all weekend, Fíli. Thorin just paid for my lunch. Not this as well.’

Fíli wavered for a moment, but then he took the proffered cash and tucked it away. Bilbo relaxed immediately. Generosity was one thing. Sponging off them all weekend was entirely another.

When the queue finally spit them out amidst the ice sculptures themselves, Bilbo couldn’t help but gasp. The sculptures ranged from small details (rabbits and squirrels; little fairies hidden where you least expected them; an owl about to take flight) to towering blocks cunningly crafted (a rearing horse, a pair of stags mid-battle; a wishing well that Bilbo whispered quietly to; Kíli’s promised dragon, snaking in and out of the snow around it). None of them knew where to look first, and they soon became separated as they slowed and stopped to look at different elements.

Thorin got a particularly strange look on his face when he saw the icy throne that people could sit in to have their photo taken, and Fíli and Kíli seemed to steer clear as well.

It didn’t bother Bilbo. He’d never been much for thrones.

There was only one downside to the whole experience.

It was absolutely fucking freezing.

Why that hadn’t occurred to Bilbo outside, he had no idea. These were _ice sculptures_ , after all, the whole point was to keep them from melting… some of them were already starting to despite the best efforts of the organisers. They certainly weren’t going to keep the place toasty warm.

Still, most sensible people had thick coats, a hat, gloves.

Bilbo _had_ a coat.

It had just seen better winters. A few years back.

Yavanna, he was cold.

Then, suddenly, he was less so.

Mostly because a mass of human heat was standing right in front of him, blocking some of the cold air being filtered into the room.

Also because a scarf was being carefully wound around his neck and, confusingly, his hands were being picked up and rubbed together between rough, broad palms.

‘Mahal, we got you out of your flat for the weekend and then brought you to the only place in the city that’s probably _colder_ ,’ Thorin grumbled to himself. ‘We’re idiots. And you need some gloves. Those count as a basic life necessity in winter.’

‘Thorin, what…?’ was Bilbo’s very erudite response.

‘You were shaking from the cold and your fingers were starting to go blue,’ Thorin informed him, his tone a cross between concern and exasperation. ‘Are you warmer now?’

‘Ye – yes,’ Bilbo stuttered, still thoroughly distracted by having his hands held. He was warmer. He was _definitely_ warmer. Oh Yavanna.

Then he gave himself a mental shake and managed to get a grip.

‘Yes, thank you,’ he told Thorin gently, extracting his hands. ‘I’m much better now. Look, this scarf’s so long that I can use it for my hands too,’ and he wound the long ends around his hands to cover them.

‘Of course,’ Thorin said gruffly, and Bilbo… was Bilbo wrong, or was there a flush working its way up from under Thorin’s collar? Over the neck that was now exposed because he’d _given Bilbo his scarf_ and had been holding his hands.

Warming his hands up.

No, damnit, there were other ways to help someone you hardly knew when they were cold. You didn’t need to hold their hands.

This was…

This was all very strange.

‘Mahal, you two are slow,’ Kíli announced, suddenly appearing beside them from amongst the knots of people. ‘Are you coming?’

‘Yes,’ they responded simultaneously. ‘Yes, we’ve only got a few more pieces to see,’ Thorin finished up, and Bilbo automatically moved on to the next (a huge bear on its hind legs that Bilbo would not like to meet in the forest, thank you).

‘Ooh, you have the warm scarf on,’ Kíli told Bilbo jealously, tugging at said scarf lightly. ‘I love the warm scarf. I steal it off Uncle when he’s not looking and then he growls at me and makes me give it back. Wars have been started over that scarf, Bilbo!’

‘Minor skirmishes, at most,’ Thorin countered, quelling. ‘Nothing where you’re so easily defeated could be counted as a battle, let alone a war.’ Kíli argued, of course, and the sound of their gentle bickering preceded Bilbo the rest of the way through the marquee.

You _didn’t have to fight him for it_ , his mind pointed out sneakily. _He put it on you himself_.

Oh, for Yavanna’s sake, SHUT UP!

******


	11. Holding Truth

Chapter Eleven: Holding Truth

‘So then I go over there and Bilbo has Uncle’s scarf around his neck AND _Uncle’s holding his hands_ ,’ Kíli finished. Fíli could hear the ta-da! quite clearly in his tone.

‘Was he?’ Mum said slowly. ‘Was he, indeed?’ Dwalin just snorted with badly suppressed laughter. ‘Oh, do shut up, Dwalin,’ she continued impatiently.

‘Come on, you can’t tell me that Thorin gone all soft and gooey isn’t entertaining!’ Dwalin objected.

‘I have twenty years of photographic evidence that you’re soft and fluffy as a little duckling whenever I, or they,’ she pointed at her sons, ‘want you to be,’ Mum informed him. ‘Your high horse is non-existent. Shut it.’

Dwalin, as usual, seemed mostly unconcerned by Mum’s supposed ‘displeasure’, because he knew it was all a front just like they did, but he did stop laughing after a few more chuckles.

He was still wearing a shit-eating grin, but Mum could hardly tell him to stop smiling. Not unless she was in a really unreasonable mood, anyway.

‘Are we…,’ Kíli began hesitantly. That got Fíli’s attention. Kíli was never hesitant. Fíli was fairly sure that recklessness was a core section of his brother’s genetic make-up. ‘Are we actually going to try and matchmake here? Are we sure that’s a good idea?’

Ah, that would explain it. The two of them had only tried matchmaking once.

It hadn’t ended well.

They were pretty lucky that Ori was still talking to them.

‘Not at all, darling,’ Dís reassured him immediately, and Kíli’s shoulders slumped in relief. ‘Not the way you mean. No tricks, no… silly gimmicks that are going to make Bilbo uncomfortable. Just pointing out to your uncle when he’s being an arsehole and helping him spend time with Bilbo without extra pressure, like you did today. What they do with it after that is up to them, yes?’

‘Oh good,’ Kíli muttered. ‘I’m _so shit_ at match-making.’

‘Yes, darling,’ Dís said softly. ‘I’m aware.’ She and Fíli shared a gentle eye-roll where Kíli couldn’t see, though Fíli had to admit that the Ori-disaster had been partially his fault.

Someone who prided himself on being good with people really ought to have figured out that Ori had had a crush on Kíli and wouldn’t appreciate his crush setting him up on dates with another person. Instead Mum had had to point it out to him.

He still owed Nori for intervening on their behalf, and the other man had only done it because Ori was miserable.

It would probably be funny in another year or so, but for now no more match-making for Fíli. He was keeping well out of Ori and Kíli’s possible romance, and his only plans for Bilbo involved adoption into their little circle.

***

Thorin felt like the world’s greatest fool.

He really had just wanted to get poor Bilbo warm. The man had been physically shaking from cold, something that he’d occasionally seen Ori and Nori do because they were so slight. Dori would inevitably cluck impatiently and start warming them up, and Mahal knew that Thorin didn’t want Bilbo to be uncomfortable when the whole point of this weekend was to give him a respite from his problems.

Only now Bilbo was back to being terribly skittish, wouldn’t look at Thorin and had hardly said a word all through dinner.

It was occurring to Thorin, belatedly, that there was a difference between your brother grabbing your hands and rubbing them to warm them up, and your boss/host doing it.

Mahal but he was a _fool_.

‘Something wrong with the food, lad?’ Dwalin asked gruffly. It took Bilbo a moment to realise he was being addressed, then his head shot up and he shook it rapidly.

‘No, no, it’s lovely,’ he insisted earnestly.

‘Funny, because you seem to be pushing it around the plate a lot more than eating it,’ Dwalin observed. To everyone else at the table, it was clearly concern, but Bilbo looked as if he’d just accidentally slapped someone across the face and was trying to work out whether apologising or sinking into the floor was the better option.

‘Leave off, Dwalin,’ Balin interrupted mildly. ‘Not everyone eats like a swarm of locusts. They were probably stuffing themselves all day and Bilbo might not be hungry.’

‘We did eat rather a lot,’ Bilbo agreed, and Thorin could tell he was grasping onto the excuse with relief. As soon as Bilbo put his fork down, the index finger on his right hand began tapping the table as if he had his keyboard in front of him, which only confirmed that he was thoroughly uncomfortable. Thorin had begun to notice it as Bilbo’s greatest tell a couple of weeks before.

‘That we did,’ Thorin confirmed, standing and taking his plate to the sink, though he actually could have eaten a bit more. He pressed a kiss to Dís’ hair as he passed, and she leaned into it briefly to acknowledge she understood what he was doing, ‘and I need to get moving anyway. Thank you for dinner, Dwalin. Cooked with your usual grace and forbearance, I’m sure.’

‘Oh, piss off, you wanker,’ was Dwalin’s erudite reply, but there was no offence in it. He’d caught up quickly enough.

‘Hang on, Thorin, you can give me a lift,’ Balin said, standing as well.

‘Abandonment,’ Fíli exclaimed melodramatically. ‘Heartless desertion!’

‘Oh, hush you,’ Balin told him affectionately, flicking his ear. ‘As if you want the old people here all evening.’

‘What’s two more when we have Mum and Dwalin?’ Kíli said unwisely, at the exact same moment that Thorin uttered, ‘Please stop calling us old, Balin. I’m enjoying my illusion of youth.’

‘ _Kili Durin_ ,’ Dís shrieked, and the whole kitchen came to a standstill. Thorin’s eyes went first to Bilbo, who appeared not to be breathing. Catching Bilbo’s gaze, he carefully mouthed, _Back. Away. Slowly_.

Bilbo pushed his chair back oh-so-carefully, somehow managing not to make a sound, and succeeded in getting out of the line of fire just as Kíli made a break for it and Dís commanded Dwalin to catch him for her. Fíli was howling with laughter and unintentionally getting in the way; Dwalin was between Kíli and the door, so Kíli tried to go over the table; Balin tried to save the crockery that was being threatened in the attempt.

Thorin - as the only member of his family with half a brain - went around behind Dís, put his hand on Bilbo’s back and guided him through the door at the other end of the kitchen into the small utility room.

‘Not the most glamorous place to be, I know,’ he told Bilbo, ‘but it’s a lot safer in here for the next few minutes than it is out there.’

‘You know,’ Bilbo said, with the air of one still trying to process the scene of a great disaster, ‘when I looked up your company before I started working for you, I had this vague image of a really old, dignified, family-run business.’

Thorin closed his eyes briefly. ‘Then you met my nephew,’ he murmured, ‘who can’t grasp the basics of furniture.’

Something smashed in the other room and Balin cursed. Dís cried out in triumph and Kíli wailed in despair. Thorin and Bilbo both turned to the wall, as if they’d be able to see through it.

‘Thorin, your entire family is utterly insane!’ Bilbo said somewhat hysterically.

‘Yes, I know,’ Thorin responded, half-distracted by wondering what Dís was doing to his Editor and hoping it wouldn’t be permanent. ‘It’s hereditary, actually. This is a considerable improvement on my grandfather’s latter days. When one of them starts demanding thrones in their office and insisting the company’s clients are vassals who should pay them homage, then we need to be concerned. A little broken crockery is nothing.’

There was a beat of silence, and then he realised what he’d said.

‘Shit,’ he growled, turning back to Bilbo, who was staring at him again. Only this time, the startled expression was fading quickly and was being replaced by understanding and sympathy.

‘No wonder you understood,’ Bilbo said softly. His hand reached out, stuttered in mid-air, then finished the journey to Thorin’s arm and rubbed gently. ‘I’m sorry, Thorin, no one should have to deal with that.’

‘No, they shouldn’t,’ Thorin agreed, but he didn’t mean himself. Dealing with it was his job; he was born to shoulder the family craziness. Besides, he’d always had Balin helping him. Bilbo didn’t seem to have much of anyone.

Even so, with Bilbo’s kind eyes on him, Thorin had the sudden unique urge to confess to someone the horror of those few years when the whole world had collapsed bit-by-bit. One loss after another, until he and Dís, and her tiny boys, were all that was left. They’d been two breaths from begging Dwalin to come home permanently every day for over a year, just so they’d feel a little less alone.

‘Mum’s been victorious,’ Fíli yelled. ‘You can come out now, you cowards!’

And the moment passed.

They emerged into the kitchen to find Dís gloating smugly from amidst the wreckage of dinner, Kíli looking rather worse for wear.

‘With that instinct for bravely running away, big brother,’ Dís crowed, ‘it’s a good job that the days of generals leading their troops into battle passed you by.’

‘Better part of valour, baby sister,’ he retorted. ‘I’m not obliged to become collateral damage for your entertainment. Nor is your guest. Now, if you’re all quite finished, I really am going home this time.’

‘ _Yes_ ,’ Balin said emphatically. ‘I’ve had enough of you lunatics for one evening. David Attenborough is much better company.’

There was further tossing of joking insults as they headed to the door, then more serious goodbyes and a quick discussion of plans.

Through it all, Thorin could still feel words sitting on the tip of his tongue, like a burn he remembered each time he tried to eat.

***

Bilbo was hugely thankful that Sunday began quietly.

As quietly as it could when surrounded by Fíli and Kíli, at least.

As promised, they accompanied him on his weekly food shop mid-morning, once Kíli was functional. They kindly made no comment as Bilbo’s trolley was filled with the cheapest possible foods, while theirs filled up with options that made proper meals which took more than five minutes to prepare. There was a small battle of wills over who was going to buy the ingredients for the gingerbread house recipe that Bilbo had found online, but Fíli won with the combined arguments that Bilbo would be doing most of the work and that the Durin/Fundinson household would be doing most of the eating.

Truthfully, Bilbo thought he might be learning to pick his battles, which was something his mum had often told him he needed to do more often. It made him smile to think he was finally learning her lesson twenty years later than she’d planned.

He hoped she was proud.

Ironically then, some of the first words out of Dad’s mouth later that morning, when Bilbo called to check in, were, ‘Oh, Bilbo, I’m so proud of you.’

‘I’m sorry?’ Bilbo asked, taken aback by the seemingly random announcement.

‘An entire weekend with _people_ , Bilbo,’ his dad emphasised. ‘Do you know how long it’s been since you told me you were doing something like that? Since I asked what you’d done and you mentioned a full day spent just having fun?’

‘I prefer my own company, you know that,’ Bilbo replied, a little more sharply than he meant to. He hadn’t expected his dad to pick up on this. Which was naïve of him. Bungo Baggins was depressed, not stupid; a complete change in Bilbo’s routine wasn’t the sort of thing he was likely to miss.

‘Yes, love, I know,’ Dad conceded calmly, and it was so much like having his dad back that Bilbo’s eyes burned and his throat was full and tight. ‘You’re just like me, better with your books than with lots of people. Still, you were never a hermit, not until all this happened.’

‘There was a lot to do,’ Bilbo said stiffly, and Dad sighed tiredly on the other end of the phone. Bilbo felt his shoulders tense. Had he said the wrong thing? Dad had sounded good, had he…?

‘I’m saying this all wrong,’ Dad muttered irritably but not despairingly, just garden-variety irritation; like the shed door wouldn’t shut properly again because the hinge was dropping, and he was going to have to fix it for the thousandth time.

Oh.

‘Bilbo, I know I still have bad days. I had a terrible one the other week and it was hard on both of us, but I called you because that was our agreement. I just… I want you to realise it _is_ getting better, love. I’m getting better. I’m taking the tablets just as they tell me, and the doctor and I have been talking about increasing my hours at work so I’ll have more money coming in. I’m making sure I go out more. The Gamgees are inviting me over for dinner a couple of nights every week. I can look outward a bit more now, Bilbo, and you’ve had your life on hold for me for a long time. I’m glad we’re _both_ getting moving again, that’s all.’

‘Me too,’ Bilbo said in a small voice, his mind whirling. Part of him had realised that Dad was better than he’d been at the beginning, of course, but he’d been so scared of what _could_ happen that he hadn’t really thought much past that. Dad’s reports of good days, Mr Gamgee’s reports of improvements, had seemed a bit like wishful thinking.

‘Dad, I think I might be a bit of a pessimist,’ Bilbo suggested, voice embarrassingly clogged with tears. It was worth it to hear his dad almost collapse with laughter at the other end.

‘And you’re just working this out _now_?’ Dad queried incredulously, when he’d finished choking on his rusty chuckles. ‘Bilbo, when you were seven you started stockpiling soup tins in your room and, when we asked why, you told us “so I’ll be ready when the apocalypse comes”. I think your pessimism is an established fact at this point.’

Bilbo thought of his parents’ gross overreaction every time he got so much as a scratch when he was a child and thought it was a trait he probably came by naturally, but he didn’t say so. It was too nice to be talking to the father he hadn’t encountered for such a long time.

***

Of course, Bilbo’s pessimism nearly proved itself warranted when faced with a pair of Durins and an attempt to bake a gingerbread house. Patience was required, and patience was not a major Durin trait.

He was saved by one thing, and one thing only.

A text.

As in, Kíli texted Ori and said: _Making gingerbread house. You should be jealous. Or come over and help_.

And Ori, like the blessing from the Valar that he was, did the latter.

And brought Dori.

Suddenly, calm and order emerged from chaos.

‘Kíli, put that down or I will invent new management reports to be completed, just for you,’ Dori said evenly, without a hint of menace in his voice.

Kíli put the icing sugar he’d been hefting down gently and backed away immediately.

‘Good boy,’ Dori approved, watching Bilbo’s attempts to create gingerbread with the same fascination as Ori and Fíli.

‘That is workplace harassment,’ Kíli objected. ‘Non-workplace harassment,’ he corrected himself, brow furrowing in confusion. ‘Fíli, what’s it called when he misuses his authority _outside_ the workplace?’

‘Common sense?’ Fíli suggested. ‘No one wants you playing with icing sugar, little brother, least of all me. I’ll be the poor sod who ends up covered in the stuff.’

‘Nobody loves me,’ Kíli said mournfully. Bilbo was concentrating very hard on creating his gingerbread mixture, but he saw a flicker of movement that could have been Ori reaching back towards Kíli. Kíli began humming happily a few seconds later and Bilbo resigned himself to musical baking.

As long as nobody started yanking the ingredients away from him when the humming stopped, he’d put up with it.

Bilbo had just managed to get his – mostly as he wanted it – mixture onto the trays in house-shaped pieces when Thorin appeared for the first time that day, calling behind him, ‘Dís, do you want a dri…?’ He caught sight of the kitchen, bursting with his employees in full baking mode, and clearly changed his mind.

‘Ignore that,’ he shouted, just as Dís began to answer. ‘I daren’t set food inside the kitchen!’ Then, more quietly, ‘Fíli, toss me a can, will you?’

Fíli was grinning and muttering about ‘repeated acts of cowardice’, but he did as he was told and Thorin began to retreat.

Which was just as well, because Thorin’s arrival had reminded Bilbo of all the uncertainty that this weekend had raised, and he’d gone jittery all over. Shaking hands did not assist one’s baking efforts, everyone knew that.

Yavanna, but he couldn’t help it, though.

The way Thorin had acted on Saturday had made Bilbo wonder; of course it had. Bilbo had thought he’d ended their trip to the market with fairly strong evidence that Thorin wasn’t treating Bilbo like a normal employee, and maybe not even like a friend.

It had been surreal, and unnerving, and a little exciting.

Until common sense had begun to win out. Time with the Durin’s had made it very clear that, on the whole, they had no physical boundaries _at all_. They shoved, hugged, pressed kisses to each other’s heads, moved each other out of the way… whatever came to mind.

Among them, without the office to remind him of boundaries, Thorin reverted to type.

He might not have chosen the most appropriate way of making sure that Bilbo was warm, but Bilbo had concluded that appropriateness was not a terribly Durin trait. And Thorin was a kind person, recent events had proven that. Making sure Bilbo was warm was simply a kind thing to do.

That had seemed a great deal more likely than Thorin randomly falling for his mess of a temporary PA after a few weeks of working together, and then deciding to hit on an employee.

End of story, Bilbo had figured.

Only then Bilbo had opened his mouth in another of his fantastically subtle moments and insulted Thorin’s entire family and Thorin had responded with…

Truth.

Unintentional truth, probably, but bald and painful and precious because of it.

Bilbo didn’t think you said such things, even accidentally, to someone who was just a work colleague. Not if you were the sort of person who played things close to the chest.

Bilbo thought Thorin probably was. He seemed a bit like Bilbo that way.

That meant Bilbo was, in some way, special to Thorin.

The way Thorin was becoming special to him.

And _that_ made Bilbo jittery, because he didn’t know what to do with it, in general, and particularly when Thorin was still his boss.

‘Bilbo?’ Ori said quietly. When Bilbo’s eyes flipped up to look at him, Ori’s own eyes were softly empathetic. ‘I think the oven’s warm enough now.’

Bilbo pretended to look over and check, as if that had been the reason for his breather all along (Yavanna bless these people and their willingness to hand him convenient excuses for being a complete airhead), then nodded.

‘Yes, I think so,’ he agreed. ‘Let’s see if we can make something that holds up, shall we?’

Miraculously, it held. And looked beautiful.

For five minutes, until the boys got peckish and began demolishing it.

******


	12. Not

Chapter Twelve: Not

Not-matchmaking was harder than it looked.

Dís was almost giving herself an aneurysm trying to accomplish it, in fact. Which wouldn’t be good for anyone, considering all the effort they were going through to get her healthy.

Still, she would be strong. Nothing good ever came of trying to push people who weren’t ready to be pushed.

Except when…

Correction. Nothing good ever came of pushing _Thorin_ when he wasn’t yet ready to be pushed.

Poor Thorin.

She was a little bit worried his head was going to explode if he thought this hard for much longer.

‘What’s wrong, love?’ she asked him seriously, tilting her head to one side as she eyed the way he was gripping his can of Coke. ‘You’re going to splatter that all over my sofa if you don’t ease up.’

‘Oh!’ Thorin started, and immediately loosened his hold before setting the can gently on the coffee table. ‘Nothing. I’m fine.’

 _Hmm, and I’m a fairytale princess_ , Dís thought silently. She didn’t contradict him aloud, of course. He’d only get defensive.

After several long moments of silence, with Thorin leaning forward and staring at his knees while Dís pretended to concentrate on her phone so that Thorin wouldn’t feel like she was watching him, Thorin asked, ‘How much did you tell Vili about the family when you were getting together?’

Dís bit back her instinctive response, which was _as little as possible_.

In an ideal world, yes, she’d tell everyone as little as possible about the ridiculousness that was the Durin family, but Thorin needed the serious answer.

Besides, their family life hadn’t been entirely bad.

Their parents had been loving enough. A bit distant, prone to disappearing off in search of ‘new adventures’ and leaving them in the care of their grandparents regularly, but nice people. Their main crime – because even Dís wasn’t harsh enough to blame them for dying in an accident just as everything was getting exceptionally difficult - was turning a blind eye to Thror’s autocratic behaviour and his deterioration after their grandmother’s death.

Their father had always been weak. He’d much preferred to let Thorin take more and more responsibility for Dís and Frerin, for the company, even for Thror, than take a bit of it himself and have to give up the way of life he’d loved. The escape he’d found.

Their mother hadn’t tried to convince him very hard. Not that Dís had ever heard. They’d both sacrificed Thorin for their freedom, as far as Dís was concerned. Still, their parents had loved them, and had always shown it when they were around.

Thror.

She’d probably have judged Thror less harshly for the things he’d done when ill if he’d been a nicer person before. That likely wasn’t the right way to view it, but no one had ever called her perfect.

He’d just always been such a bastard.

Do this. Do that. Don’t do this. Don’t do that. Don’t associate with that person. Don’t dare cry, Thorin. Don’t dare smile, Frerin. Dís, what do you think you’re wearing? Don’t any of you realise you’re Durins?

As if anyone had cared about the tiny publishing company he was slowly driving out of business.

They’d barely noticed when he’d first started to lose his marbles, it was such an extension of the way he’d always been. They’d only realised what was really happening when a client who’d known them since they were small, who’d stayed with the company from sheer loyalty, called Thorin and told him exactly what sort of claims Thror had started making.

It was a wonder they hadn’t turned to drink.

It was a wonder Vili hadn’t turned tail and bolted.

Which brought her back to Thorin’s question.

‘At first, what he needed to know to deal with them,’ she answered honestly. ‘You know; just ignore Thror, he’s an overbearing arsehole and we all try to. Mum and Dad are nice enough, but you probably won’t see much of them. That sort of thing. Then more as time went by. We’d already been together a while when Thror started to go off the deep end, you know that. I didn’t have to tell him much when he could see it all happening.’

‘No,’ Thorin sighed, leaning back instead. Dís glanced towards the kitchen, but she could tell from the noise that they weren’t likely to be disturbed for a while. She got up from her sofa and joined Thorin on his, resting against him a bit.

‘What’s brought this on, hmm?’

‘You know sometimes I open my mouth and things just fall out without permission?’ Thorin asked.

‘Yes,’ Dís answered immediately. This was, after all, one of the immutable truths of the universe.

‘I did it again,’ Thorin confessed. ‘Only this time I told Bilbo about Thror being mad as a box of frogs.’

‘Oh,’ was all Dís could think to say for a moment. Then, ‘Was there a reason…?’

‘He’d just told me you were all a bunch of lunatics,’ Thorin explained. ‘I did say it fell out without permission,’ he pointed out when she gazed at him a little incredulously. ‘I didn’t _mean_ to blurt our family trauma all over the poor man.’

‘He doesn’t appear to have run screaming,’ Dís pointed out gently, patting Thorin’s knee in comfort.

‘Well, no,’ Thorin told her patiently. ‘He’s staying here until his heating is fixed and I’m his boss. Running screaming would be a little difficult.’

‘Thorin, what do you want?’ Dís asked, still gentle but somewhat exasperated. ‘Do you _want_ him to run away?’

‘No,’ Thorin looked shocked. ‘Of course not.’

‘Then what?’ Dís prompted. ‘You’re sitting here on a Sunday afternoon brooding about it,’ Thorin poked her; she batted his hand away. ‘There must be something.’

‘He’s…,’ Thorin paused so long she thought she might scream with frustration. ‘He’s very strong, and he only blinked a moment when I told him. He’s funny, and sweet with the boys, and… pretty.’

‘And you like him,’ Dís sighed, beyond relieved. Bless Mahal, Yavanna, and all the Valar above. ‘You _like_ him, Thorin.’

‘That sounds like I’m a 15-year-old with a crush,’ Thorin grumbled.

 _I will not agree, because it will undo all my hard work and then I will have to cry_ , Dís admonished herself. _No matter how strong the resemblance_.

‘It makes you sound like a human being who has met another human being whom they would like to date,’ Dís replied instead. ‘Thorin, this is a good thing. It’s a good thing that hardly ever happens. The entire team is probably jumping up and cheering and doesn’t know why.’

She was his sister. She couldn’t be _too_ supportive or he might smell a rat.

Thorin glared balefully at her, then looked nervously at the hallway to the kitchen.

‘I’m his boss, Dís,’ he almost groaned. ‘This is not appropriate.’

‘Isn’t that for Bilbo to decide?’ she asked immediately. She’d had a lot of time on her hands. Plenty of time, in fact, to develop counter-arguments for anything Thorin might come up with.

Matchmaking and helping someone along were completely different things.

She had a complete argument for that one, too, if anyone was bored enough to bother starting it with her.

Thorin opened his mouth, then closed it again. That, apparently, hadn’t occurred to him.

‘Just ask him, Thorin,’ she urged.

‘And if it makes him uncomfortable?’ he asked sharply, pulling his hair away from his face in irritation even as he deliberately kept his voice down. ‘ _More_ uncomfortable. He startles like a rabbit half the time when I’m in the room anyway, Dís. He needs this job, he flat-out told Dori and I so. I don’t want him to think he has to leave it because I’ve made him feel harassed.’

That was, admittedly, tricky.

 _Dís_ was fairly sure that Bilbo fancied Thorin rotten but there was a chance she was wrong, and the poor man did have the right to go to work without feeling awkward all day.

‘Just approach it gently,’ she advised. ‘If it seems like he’s at all distressed then back off and change the subject, just like you would if you were asking anyone else out. You think he likes you at least a little bit, Thorin, otherwise you wouldn’t even be contemplating it,’ she insisted, and knew she was right when Thorin shrugged.

He didn’t argue any further, at least, so she considered it a victory.

She was winning a lot of those, this weekend.

***

Thorin felt more than slightly sick.

He’d like to blame the gingerbread – which he’d eaten far too much of – but he really doubted that had anything to do with it.

He’d felt vaguely nauseous ever since his conversation with Dís.

That was what happened when you were preparing for one of the most terrifying conversations of your life.

Mahal, why was this worse than telling Thror that they were taking the company off him?

Bilbo had headed upstairs after the great baking extravaganza, presumably for some quiet, and now Thorin was hovering in the least stalkerish manner possible in the hallway outside the spare room, trying to get up the courage to knock.

He really hoped Bilbo didn’t open the door first.

That wouldn’t help his attempts to avoid looking like a creep at all.

It was this thought which finally prompted him to actually knock, despite his nerves. Bilbo’s call to enter only increased the heaviness in the pit of his stomach, even as it made his heart flutter absurdly, but he did at least manage to open the door and walk in.

‘Thorin!’ Bilbo exclaimed, straightening up from his slouch on the bed. He’d obviously been expecting someone else, perhaps one of the boys. ‘How can I help?’

‘I was hoping we could talk,’ Thorin said as calmly as he could, stretching his hands at his sides to try and restart the bloodflow and hoping that, if Bilbo noticed, it didn’t look like he was preparing to punch something.

Balin had once mentioned that he tended to give that impression when he was nervous. Helpful in negotiations, sometimes, less so when you wanted to ask someone out.

‘Oh,’ Bilbo answered. ‘Alright. Um, take a seat?’ As the bed was the only seat in the room, the invitation was said rather tentatively, but Thorin took it anyway. He settled on the end, only half-facing Bilbo who was leaning against the headboard, trying to give the other man as much room as possible.

Before Bilbo’s vaguely confused expression could deepen any further, Thorin started with, ‘Thank you, for being so understanding about my… uh, rather blurted comments last night. I’m sure you realised I didn’t mean to throw that at you. You’ve dealt with everything we’ve thrown at you very well, actually; particularly this weekend. We’re not the easiest bunch to get used to, and most people wouldn’t manage a whole weekend with us so easily.’

‘Nonsense,’ Bilbo said dismissively, relaxing instantly. ‘You’ve all been lovely to me, and I could hardly ask for more than that. I got luckier than I expected when Gandalf asked me to take this job. I can’t imagine anyone at my previous offices taking me to their Mum’s for the weekend because my heating broke. They might have suggested a cheap hotel, but…’

‘Google can suggest a cheap hotel,’ Thorin snorted. ‘What good’s that when someone needs help?’

‘People do what they think they can,’ Bilbo told him, voice slightly scolding. ‘Not everyone can manage an unexpected house guest. Still, as I said, I’ve been very lucky with you lot. You’ve nothing to thank me for. You offered your own understanding when I needed it.’

Bilbo’s tone made it clear that the last was aimed directly at Thorin, and it was his turn to dismiss the implied gratitude, this time with a shrug. ‘How was he?’ he asked instead. ‘When you spoke to him?’

‘Well,’ Bilbo said, wonderingly, seeming to look inward for a second. ‘Really well,’ he smiled so widely that Thorin’s breath caught. ‘It’s… actually getting better. Poor Dad; he’s been telling me, I realised, but I haven’t been hearing him.’

‘I’m so glad, Bilbo,’ Thorin replied, unable to help grinning back. Bilbo looked back at him again and suddenly went bright red, beginning to cough on the breath he’d just taken in.

Dís was right. Thorin _had_ suspected that Bilbo was attracted to him, even if he hadn’t always been certain that Bilbo liked him that much. There’d been one too many times when Thorin had tried to be friendly (i.e. smiled) and Bilbo had suddenly blushed or found a reason to disappear. He’d also been teasing a lot more as they relaxed around each other, and Thorin had wondered if perhaps Bilbo teased him a little differently than he did the others.

This, now.

Bilbo talking to him about his dad without hesitation, and then the blushing and coughing thing happening again…

Sod it, Thorin was just going to have to take it as a sign and hope for the best.

It was probably the most he was going to get.

Mahal, he hoped he wasn’t about to completely bollocks this up.

‘Bilbo, would you like to go on a date with me?’

***

Part of Bilbo thought his ears had stopped working properly.

The other part – the part which, of course (because the world hated him), had control of his mouth – stalled entirely.

So, what came out was a completely inane, ‘What? Now?’

‘Well, if that’s the only time you’ll give me, then yes,’ Thorin offered. ‘I’d hate to lose my chance.’

‘Oh, sweet Yavanna, I did _not_ mean to say that,’ Bilbo blurted, slamming his hand over his mouth.

Thorin was obviously trying to fight back a grin, and Bilbo wondered if hiding under the covers on the bed until he went away would be completely unacceptable.

‘Just consider it a theme of our relationship,’ Thorin reassured him encouragingly. ‘I’m fairly sure that describes a good 25% of what I’ve said to you in the last several weeks.’

Alright, that… did actually make Bilbo feel a bit better.

Breathing had resumed, at least.

‘Bilbo?’ Thorin asked. At which point, Bilbo realised he hadn’t answered Thorin’s question.

Would he like to go on a date with Thorin?

Oh, Yavanna, yes. That sounded absolutely wonderful. To have another few hours like the market yesterday, except without the boys there (much as he adored them). He wanted that so much it sounded a bit like a dream.

Should he? There were so many things that could go wrong. If Thorin decided Bilbo wasn’t his type after all, he might not want to work with him anymore. He could get fired. Or what if they argued at work? Would Thorin want to go on a date with him if they’d just spent the day arguing over something work-related?

What if…

 _Dad, I think I might be a bit of a pessimist_ , he heard his own voice say in his head.

It almost made him laugh.

He was doing it again. Jumping ship before anything could go wrong. Before he could be a bother. Just as he’d done with the tw… Just as he’d tried to do with Fíli, only Fíli hadn’t let him. And how much would he have missed this weekend, if Fíli had let him?

Certainly this moment here, being asked on his first date in a long time, by a truly gorgeous man.

 _Things are getting better_ , he’d thought earlier when talking to Dad. _We’re_ both _getting moving again_ , Dad had said so proudly.

Time to prove them right.

‘Um, yes,’ Bilbo told Thorin. Then, more confidently. ‘Yes, I would, thank you. I’d like that very much.’

Then they just grinned at each other like a pair of fools for about two minutes, by Bilbo’s count, and Bilbo felt even better as he remembered that he wasn’t the only idiot in this soon-to-be relationship.

******


	13. Honesty

Chapter Thirteen: Honesty

Work on Monday was… strange.

Mondays were generally strange, Kíli would be the first to admit that. He could never settle properly after the weekend, and yet he always had 5000 things that needed to be dealt with. It made the day go very quickly, as a rule, but did mean that he bounced around the office like a pinball every time he needed an answer to a question, only finished about half of what he needed to, and basically drove everyone else mad.

Fíli had gone to work in Mum’s office more than once just to ‘get some bloody peace, Kíli!’

Some people had no staying power.

Still, this Monday was odder than normal, Kíli was sure of it.

He’d been to Bilbo’s office three times, and each time Bilbo had been staring at the computer screen not doing anything.

He snapped to it quickly enough when he realised Kíli was there, but he’d definitely been in a daze.

 _Three times_. Bilbo.

And _Uncle_ had come into a mid-morning meeting with one of their clients and only had the faintest idea which book they were talking about for the first few minutes, until Kíli managed to throw in some really pointed hints for him.

Uncle always came to meetings completely prepared and switched on.

Something was up. Kíli knew it.

It didn’t take a genius to realise that something had started at Mum’s this weekend.

(Unkind people, like a certain brother of his, would say that this was a good thing because Kíli wasn’t a genius. Kíli would ignore them. Plebeians didn’t deserve his attention.

Ha. Go look _that_ up in a dictionary, Fíli Durin!)

Honestly, Kíli considered spilling his thoughts to Fíli despite the argument they were having in his head, to see if someone else was drawing the same conclusion as he was.

In the end, however, he decided it was unnecessary. Bilbo was coming back to theirs tonight anyway, because his flat wouldn’t be ready again until tomorrow. If there was something to notice, someone would notice it this evening and doubtless mention it to Kíli.

For now, he’d just watch and wait.

***

Bilbo had slowly become accustomed to Kíli’s Monday morning restlessness and, like all the others, had developed his own techniques for dealing with it.

Fíli bore it patiently until the moment he cracked, then hid where Kíli couldn’t get him.

Dori gave him the, ‘Oh, don’t you even try it,’ glare if he was busy, so that Kíli boomeranged back out of his office before he could even interrupt. This handily meant that Kíli never got near Balin at all.

Bifur just refused to talk to him.

Nori somehow managed to deflect Kíli off towards whoever had annoyed him that day.

Bofur tended to announce, ‘Come on, love, let’s go get a drink,’ and then give the whole office a break for fifteen minutes while he did the human equivalent of running Kíli around the park until he settled.

Ori pulled Kíli down next to him and talked quietly about whatever he was working on until Kíli had stopped vibrating, which was a bit like watching a snake charmer in action.

Bilbo’s usual technique was to lay aside what he was doing for 5 minutes and give Kíli his full attention, and then make a pointed reference to Thorin when he needed to get back to work. He felt this handily combined several of the approaches above.

Even so, _three times_!

How many cups of coffee had Kíli had to wake himself up this morning?

Bilbo could have sworn there’d only been two.

It might have been less irritating if Bilbo had actually been caught doing work but…

If he’d been staring into space every time Kíli arrived in his office to distract him, exactly how much time had he wasted doing bugger all so far today?

Far too much, probably.

Yavanna, he was an idiot.

Bilbo rested his head in his hands, leaning his elbows on his desk, and heaved a rather impressive sigh. This was the whole problem with mixing work and… what he and Thorin were doing. Dating, he supposed.

It turned his brain to mush when he was meant to be doing important things.

This report was not going to compile itself because Bilbo would rather be thinking about the way Thorin had smiled at him when he’d agreed to go on that date.

It had been such a lovely smile; so full of genuine happiness, as if Bilbo had just given him a wonderful gift unprompted…

 _Damn_ it, Bilbo. Head _out_ of the clouds, you fool.

‘Bilbo, that manuscript I’m meant to be reading…,’ Thorin’s voice interrupted his self-flagellation. Bilbo’s elbows nearly slipped off the desk and left him greeting it with his face.

Sweet Yavanna, now he was turning into Kíli!

‘The new one from Faramir?’ Bilbo asked, picking up the thread of the conversation as he pretended he’d been much smoother than he actually had. He turned to face Thorin, who was standing just outside the door of his office, looking rather abstractedly in Bilbo’s direction. ‘That you put in your desk drawer earlier?’

‘Is _that_ what I did with it?’ Thorin muttered, sounding relieved. He smoothed his hair back with one hand and continued talking as if to himself. ‘Why did I do that? I never keep them there.’ Then, eyes sharpening suddenly and focusing on Bilbo’s face. ‘Bilbo, are you alright? You don’t have a headache again, do you?’

Ah, so he hadn’t missed the ‘grip my head in my hands’ bit, after all. Pity.

‘Absolutely fine,’ Bilbo reassured. ‘Just… resting my eyes for a moment.’

Thorin looked intensely sceptical. Bilbo really couldn’t blame him.

‘Kíli’s very bouncy this morning,’ he offered, with mild reluctance. Much as he disliked throwing other people under a bus… needs must.

‘Oh Mahal,’ Thorin groaned, suspicion clearing instantly. ‘How bad is it? Do I need to go and stamp on him before I have a company revolt?’

‘I don’t think it’s reached that stage quite yet,’ Bilbo hurried to say, feeling guilty now. Kíli hadn’t been that bad. ‘He’s just been to see me more often than normal. Bofur will probably distract him in a bit and it’ll all be fine.’

‘Hmm,’ Thorin rumbled. Bilbo got briefly distracted imagining what it would be like to lean up against his chest and listen to that rumble from closer up. Then he got briefly distracted wanting to slap himself, before tuning back in to the conversation, ‘… me know if he keeps coming in. He’s a grown adult; he should be able to manage his own Monday adrenaline rush, or whatever it is.’

‘I will,’ Bilbo lied. At this point, he’d no more report Kíli to Thorin than he would throw himself at Thorin in the middle of the main office and start kissing him.

Though the chances of the latter did improve slightly when Thorin smiled at him again before turning to go back into his office and Bilbo’s heart tripped over several times. He grinned helplessly back, then felt the grin slip as Thorin came to a halt. Bilbo could see just the edges of a confused frown on his face.

‘That manuscript?’ Thorin asked again, after pausing for a few moments.

‘In your desk drawer…?’ Bilbo prompted. He could have sworn Thorin blushed. Which wasn’t entirely outside the realm of possibility. Did Thorin always lose things this easily and Bilbo just hadn’t noticed?

‘Yes. Yes, of course. I’ll see you later, Bilbo.’

Thorin re-entered his office and shut the door behind him.

It didn’t take Bilbo a good four minutes to stop staring at the door and get back to what he was meant to be doing.

Honest.

***

Bofur, standing just past the doorway to Bilbo’s office, allowed himself a little sigh.

Wasn’t that just sod’s law, really?

The writing had been on the wall, of course. Any eejit with eyes could see that those two fancied each other but, still, Bofur had held out a little hope.

Thorin was notoriously hard-headed, after all, and he’d not made the best first impression on Bilbo. Or second impression.

And Bilbo had been nervous as a spooked rabbit around Thorin, most of the time.

There’d been a chance that they might not get anywhere.

Bilbo might have decided that a loud, Irish fool who liked a good laugh and had a thumping crush on him would do instead.

Yeah, alright, it wasn’t _likely_ when the competition was Thorin Durin but… a bloke could dream, couldn’t he?

Ah well, never mind. They’d clearly worked something out, if the way they were grinning at each other like lovesick calves was anything to go by. Bofur didn’t know how far they’d got, but if Thorin couldn’t tell his arse from his elbow anymore, it must be fairly good.

Bofur _was_ happy for them, even if he was disappointed too.

So onward and upward.

He’d go to Bombur’s tonight, get some great food and plenty of cuddles from the little ones. That’d cheer him up. He’d be right as rain by tomorrow.

***

‘ _THORIN_!’ Balin snapped, so sharply that even Dori started in his seat. Thorin nearly went into cardiac arrest, which was amusing but also mildly alarming.

‘What?’ Thorin replied, obviously trying not to appear completely befuddled. It was sweet, like ten-year-old Ori trying to pretend he knew the rules of football when playing with the other children.

Unfortunately for Thorin, it was about to have similarly sour results.

‘You haven’t heard a word I’ve said to you in the last twenty minutes of this meeting,’ Balin exclaimed, annoyance in every nuance of his tone. ‘You have been staring over my shoulder out of that window, with a truly vacuous expression on your face, completely ignoring me and _wasting my time_.’

Ooh, he was building up a head of steam now. That was never good. You needed to cut Balin off at the pass on the rare occasions he got annoyed like this or…

‘Thranduil’s team have sent us the contract back supposedly amended, but actually they’ve just reworded some financial clauses to say the same thing they did before, or moved items from one clause to another, as if we wouldn’t notice them doing it,’ Thorin summarised concisely. He pulled his copy of the contact towards him. ‘The worst offenders are here, here and here,’ he flicked quickly to the sections that Bifur and Glóin had marked up and had checked by their lawyer, who had confirmed their suspicions.

Then he looked back up at Balin and raised an eyebrow in challenge.

Balin gave him a flat look in turn.

‘Don’t try that with me, laddie,’ he uttered, in the way that always made him sound older than the hills (and certainly older than he actually was). ‘Alright, you heard some of what I said. I still don’t appreciate being stared past like a particularly inconvenient piece of foliage. This meeting would be twice as effective if all of your brain was here, Thorin.’

‘I think I’ve just demonstrated that it is, Balin,’ Thorin retorted, but Dori could see the flicker of… embarrassment, or something like it, on Thorin’s face.

He _wasn’t_ paying full attention, and they all knew it.

‘You missed one,’ Balin said deliberately, and flicked to a really key point of contention that Thranduil’s team had supposedly given way on at their last meeting, only to sneak their original terms back in again.

‘Fuck,’ Thorin growled under his breath. A lot of people would have appeared triumphant at having won the point, but Balin was just calm.

That was why Dori loved working for him; why he’d never gone anywhere else even when money had been short years ago and better paid jobs had come up in other companies.

Balin didn’t lord it over people. He lost his temper rarely, and never with his underlings. He’d pull Dori up for a mistake but take the flack for it when it came.

And the one time Dori had _really_ cocked up – when Nori was a teenager in trouble again; when Ori had just started school and was crying every night and morning that he didn’t want to go; when Dori was coming apart at the seams – Balin had quietly solved the problem. Then he’d taken Dori to Dís, rather than Thorin, and said, ‘He needs help.’

Dís, not long out of a similar nightmare herself, had been his blessing.

He’d never dreamt of leaving after that.

Now, Balin just rolled his eyes at Thorin in exasperation.

‘It’s 3pm, Thorin. Just give it up for the day and start again tomorrow. You’ve no meetings except this one, and we’ll fit it in tomorrow morning.’

‘I can’t make a habit of…’ Thorin began, and Balin snorted.

‘Oh, you won’t,’ he assured. ‘Next time I’m not letting you go. I’ll just have Dori kick you each time you start drifting off. You get this afternoon because we both know exactly how long it’s been since you had a day’s holiday. The merger’s important, but it’ll survive without you for the afternoon. Go on.’

Dori could see the instant Thorin caved. His head slumped back on his neck for a moment, then he shoved himself to his feet and began collecting his papers up, so they could be locked away. Balin and Dori began doing the same, and Balin winked at Dori behind Thorin’s back.

If they got to finish a little early too, and most of the company ended up in a pub somewhere gossiping about their boss’ weekend… well, what Thorin didn’t know wouldn’t hurt anyone.

***

‘Bilbo, I’m heading out early,’ Thorin announced as he approached the other man’s desk. He could already feel the smile spreading across his face and wished that he hadn’t become quite so ridiculous the minute he fell for Bilbo.

Balin might spend less time patronising him.

He also might be wrong when he patronised Thorin, which would be nice. Thorin hated it when Balin was right.

About personal things.

It was helpful when one’s Managing Director was right about things, otherwise one’s business tended to go bankrupt rather abruptly.

Bilbo looked up in surprise, a question in his eyes, and Thorin felt his smile become rather sheepish even as he settled on the edge of Bilbo’s desk and dropped his briefcase on the floor.

‘I’m reliably informed that I’m no use to anyone this afternoon and might as well not be here,’ he told Bilbo quietly. ‘I thought… perhaps I could go and make some arrangements for our date. If you don’t mind going tonight, of course?’

Bilbo’s surprise turned quickly to delight, and Thorin wished he could inspire that glow all the time. It would certainly be a worthy aim. He’d have to pursue it tonight, if Bilbo said…

‘Yes. Yes, that would be lovely. And as an added bonus, your sister can have a night of relative peace,’ Bilbo offered.

‘With my relatives in the house, there will be no such thing as peace,’ Thorin countered, enjoying Bilbo’s chuckle at his sally. ‘It’s a kind thought, however. I’ll tell the boys we’re going out and they may decide to go home to their own flat instead.’

Bilbo looked tentative, suddenly, and Thorin felt a twinge of worry.

‘Bilbo?’ he asked in concern.

‘You’re going to tell them?’ Bilbo queried. He’d turned his chair to better face Thorin, but one hand still rested on the desk and his finger began to tap restlessly. Thorin gave in to impulse and reached over to still it.

‘Is there any reason I shouldn’t?’ he replied. He didn’t mean to sound guarded, but it worried him that Bilbo’s immediate instinct had been towards secrecy. Thorin didn’t keep secrets from his family. Admittedly, that was a habit partly developed from the impossibility of keeping anything from Dís, but it was also the result of watching Thror’s secrets pull them apart at the seams.

‘I just… with the work thing,’ Bilbo gestured around them as if to encompass their whole working relationship, then out the office door as well. Presumably that was to include Fíli and Kíli in the “work thing”, too, ‘I thought perhaps you might want to see if it was going to… umm, work out. Before you told them.’

Thorin knew his body had tensed. He was probably frowning. He could see it in the way Bilbo had shrunk a little, the glow fading from him as he spoke.

That simply wasn’t acceptable.

He forced himself to relax, made his hand over Bilbo’s gentler again and moved them so Bilbo’s fingers were twined with his own. He concentrated for a breath until he was sure his expression _wasn’t_ a frown (though what it was, he couldn’t have told you without a mirror).

‘Bilbo, do you want me to hide this from them?’ he asked seriously. ‘Because I will have to deliberately hide it. They like to act as if they’re idiots, but I wouldn’t employ them if they were. They won’t just fail to notice.’

‘No, I don’t, but I thought you might,’ Bilbo answered bluntly. Thorin nearly sighed.

‘They’re going to torment me until I wish they didn’t know,’ he informed Bilbo, stroking Bilbo’s wrist with his thumb, ‘but that would be the same no matter who I was dating. They like you, Bilbo. Quite possibly more than they like me, at the moment. They’ll be very pleased.’

Bilbo took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

‘Alright then,’ he said afterwards. ‘Uh, try not to let them get carried away?’

Oh. Suddenly Bilbo’s fear seemed more understandable. Fíli and Kíli could be a little overwhelming, and their reaction to discovering Thorin was actually dating would be… excited.

‘I’ll make sure they understand the concept of a first date,’ Thorin promised. His smile probably turned a little wicked as he added, ‘Perhaps I’ll remind them how many of those they’ve each been on, and how few progressed past that point. That should shut them up!’

‘There’s no need to be mean, Thorin,’ Bilbo scolded, but he laughed as well, so Thorin figured he wasn’t in too much trouble. Reluctantly, he let go of Bilbo’s hand and got up to leave, snagging his briefcase as he rose.

Which reminded him…

‘Bilbo, do you have that file on the financial arrangements we plan to make with Woodland?’ he requested. ‘I need to review it in the morning, and I gave it to you last week before the meeting with Thranduil.’

‘Yes, it’s he…’ Bilbo began, opening his bottom drawer only to stop dead and give a heavy sigh of dismay. ‘Bloody _Nori_ ,’ he cursed fervently. ‘Can I give it to you in the morning, Thorin?’

‘Of course,’ Thorin agreed, even as he was shaking his head in despair. If Nori wasn’t such a good copy editor, and so bloody willing to chip in wherever they were shorthanded… ‘I’ll see you in a couple of hours then?’

‘I look forward to it,’ and, with a lovely shy smile, Bilbo went up on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to Thorin’s cheek.

Thorin didn’t stop smiling all the way home.

******


	14. Place

Chapter Fourteen: Place

Thorin did, however, manage to wipe the smile off his face very briefly in order to take care of some important business.

‘Menaces,’ he greeted, as he slipped into his nephews’ office on his way out. Fíli and Kíli looked up from their computer screens with a unique mix of friendliness and wariness, glad to see him but knowing that particular nickname usually meant they were in trouble.

Thorin had told Bilbo the truth, after all. They weren’t stupid.

‘Uncle,’ Fíli returned cautiously, locking his computer and swinging to face Thorin properly. ‘Can we help?’

‘You can, in fact,’ Thorin replied, smiling benignly in a way that he knew would only make Fíli more nervous. Kíli was still ostensibly working through the Track Changes and letting his brother take care of the conversation. ‘Three things, in fact: help Bilbo get back to your mother’s promptly after work; go home to your own flat afterwards so she gets a quiet evening; and do not, for a second, think about teasing Bilbo when we leave for our date.’

Kíli proved he had, in fact, been paying attention to the conversation thus far by whooping quietly and throwing his arms briefly into the air in triumph.

Fíli just smiled broadly and happily.

‘Got there in the end, did you?’ he asked Thorin, with great satisfaction.

‘I’d worry at how obvious I must have been,’ Thorin sighed, ‘if you weren’t so good with people.’

‘Oh, no, you were definitely obvious,’ Kíli assured him, laughing when Thorin glared fiercely. ‘The whole office knows, Uncle. Possibly not Glóin, I suppose. He doesn’t spend as much time here and he doesn’t pay attention to anything except his numbers when he is, but everyone else has it figured out.’

‘I should hire less perceptive staff,’ Thorin complained, slumping against the wall. Then he groaned lightly. ‘No, I shouldn’t. That’s a terrible idea.’

His nephews continued to laugh at him, but Fíli pushed himself out of the chair and walked over to hug Thorin tightly.

‘We’re really happy for you, Uncle,’ he murmured. ‘We think this will be good for both of you.’

‘So your mother seemed to think,’ Thorin answered, hugging back. Kíli, never one to be left out, took a few steps over to join them. It still startled Thorin, occasionally, to realise that Kíli was nearly as tall as he was, even if Fíli had settled at a few inches shorter than both of them (which no one was allowed to mention, because he was determined to make up for the lack with an indomitable personality and _never refer to it again_ ). ‘However, my point, boys…’

‘We know,’ Kíli said, cutting him off even as they stepped back. Kíli hopped up to sit on the edge of the desk and Fíli retook his seat. ‘We won’t interfere, Uncle. Bilbo’s still getting used to having friends again. We’re not going to throw him into the deep end of new-relationship teasing when it could send him running for the hills. Don’t worry.’

And Thorin relaxed, just like that. He should have had more trust in them.

He really needed to remember to treat them like adults in their personal lives too. Kíli might still bounce like a five-year-old, a lot of the time, but it wasn’t just his physical growth that startled Thorin occasionally.

‘Good,’ he told them firmly, trying to pretend that he hadn’t been concerned for a second, though he wasn’t quite sure why he bothered. ‘I’ll see you later. I need to go and,’ suddenly his stomach dropped as he came to a realisation, ‘think of something to do.’

It was possible that his voice cracked slightly on that last sentence. He ignored that too.

***

Thorin’s flat was a small one bedroom, but he’d never needed anything bigger. He spent most of his week at work, a good chunk of his free time at the house he and Dís grew up in, and he had the option of going out or to Balin’s place if he really couldn’t stand his own four walls any longer. It didn’t make sense to spend lavishly on somewhere to live, given all that. He’d tried to make it feel open and light anyway, just like Dís did with the house; light colours, not too much furniture and most of it sleek (although he did insist it be comfy too, he wasn’t stupid). He was lucky enough to find a flat with big windows in the living area and a bay window in his bedroom, so that he felt like he had a bit more space, and mirrors did the rest.

He liked this place. He’d spent many a happy hour here, curled up reading or plotting in his mind how he was going to guide his company – his family – out of the mess that Thror made of it.

He still didn’t think bringing Bilbo here for a first date was all that appropriate, however.

The poor man had been plunged headfirst into all the madness that was the Durin family over the past few days, only weeks after first meeting Thorin, and had spent all weekend at their family home. He’d been spending all of his working days smack bang in the middle of their family business.

He’d probably appreciate being _outside_ the family nucleus for a little while.

So, cooking at home was out. Which meant dinner out was in.

Thorin was truly embarrassed by the complete mental blank that resulted when he tried to think of somewhere to take his date for dinner.

Mahal above, he’d only lived in this city all his life. One would think he’d know at least one appropriate restaurant.

The trouble was, Thorin could think of several places he’d love to take Bilbo but, as soon as he settled on one, he immediately started finding fault with it.

He was being ridiculous again. He knew it.

Too posh was certainly a problem, and he couldn’t take Bilbo somewhere that cost half a week’s wages for two people to have dinner. It would only make Bilbo uncomfortable.

Some of the other things running through his brain (could be too romantic for a first date; the flirty waitress might be on shift and spend the whole evening throwing herself at Bilbo; the lighting’s too low, what if he tripped and fell flat on his face?) ranged from slightly unlikely to utter nonsense.

‘Dwalin, tell me I’m being an idiot,’ he begged, when he finally lost the will and resorted to calling his best friend for support, slumped out flat on his bed.

‘You’re being a _fucking_ idiot,’ Dwalin said helpfully, with great relish, conviction and enthusiasm. Then, after a pause, ‘Not that I’m ever unwilling to oblige, Thorin, but what are you being an idiot about?’

‘Deciding where to take Bilbo for dinner tonight,’ Thorin informed him, and Dwalin burst out laughing.

‘I told her!’ he exclaimed smugly. ‘Soft and gooey.’

‘Oh, do shut up, Dwalin,’ Thorin responded automatically, more at the tone than the words.

Dwalin stopped laughing, but only so he could mutter tetchily, ‘It is _scary_ how similar the two of you are, sometimes.’

‘Why do I bother phoning you for help?’ Thorin lamented, closing his eyes and hoping he didn’t look too much like a melodramatic teenager. He suspected the chances were low and opted not to think about it anymore.

He wouldn’t allow himself to spend excess time choosing what to wear, or to change his outfit once he’d chosen it, he silently promised. That would be far too much.

‘Because you need a strong dose of reality and I’m the best at giving it,’ Dwalin stated firmly. ‘Dís will want gossip, and Balin’s too busy running your company; besides, he’s too gentle with you. Thorin, get a bloody grip. Pick somewhere, turn up, have dinner. Bilbo’s not dating a restaurant, he’s dating you. He’s worked with you for several weeks. If that hasn’t put him off, a restaurant won’t even register. Don’t be such a flutterer.’

‘I hate you,’ Thorin told him plainly. ‘I hate you because you’re right and I really am an idiot.’

‘Oh shush,’ Dwalin said gruffly. ‘You had the sense to call me, didn’t you? Which place has the best food?’

‘The Prancing Pony,’ Thorin said immediately, casting thoughts of dim lighting aside. ‘You’re right, that’s where we’ll go.’

‘And we’re done,’ Dwalin concluded with satisfaction. Thorin could almost see him, probably standing in Dís’ kitchen – his own little kingdom – surveying the contents of the fridge even as he held the phone to his ear so he could guide Thorin through his meltdown.

‘Thank you, Dwalin,’ Thorin said quietly, but Dwalin pretended not to hear him.

‘Now get lost. Not all of us are going out tonight. Some of us have mouths to feed.’

‘I told the boys to go home and leave you and Dís in peace,’ Thorin added, an afterthought before Dwalin could put the phone down.

‘Ah, well that does make dinner simpler,’ Dwalin remarked, though Thorin could tell the pleasure in his tone wasn’t just from the thought of less cooking. Then the phone went dead.

Dwalin had always been terrible at ending phone calls. He was famous for just cutting people off when he was done. In the first year he worked for Balin, poor Dori had been convinced that Dwalin hated him because Dwalin kept almost-slamming the phone down on him when Balin wasn’t available.

Letting his own phone drop onto the quilt, Thorin took a deep breath and then shoved himself upright. He had just over an hour until Bilbo would be back from work. He needed to book a table at the Prancing Pony and then make himself presentable.

***

‘ _Nori_ ,’ Bilbo hissed with irritation. He was approaching the company’s copy editor with a fiery glint in his eye that he suspected Gandalf’s office staff would have recognised.

After all, he’d felt an equally martial spirit flow through him when he’d started a fight during his agency interview, apparently terrifying and impressing the staff in equal measure.

They were all used to ducking for cover when Gandalf got into one of his moods, Merry had told him, but at the same time… who didn’t like to see their boss taken on, now and then?

Gandalf had been in a particularly bad mood that first day he and Bilbo had met, picking and picking at Bilbo’s CV, questioning every little thing.

Why had Bilbo given up his studies partway through?

Why was he choosing temporary administration work after doing so?

What could he offer Gandalf’s company when he had no experience at all?

How could Gandalf trust him with a temping job when he was so fickle he couldn’t stick to a degree he’d clearly chosen?

Bilbo – tired, stressed, coming down with something, sick of hearing the same things again and again and again - had lost his temper. He’d told Gandalf that his skills were all laid out on paper, that a PhD was hardly for the faint-hearted, that his reasons for giving up were his own and that, if Gandalf was so _concerned_ about offering him jobs, he needn’t have wasted Bilbo’s time and his own with an interview.

Then he’d got up and walked out.

Gandalf had followed him, bellowing that he could hardly expect to earn himself a job if he was going to throw a tantrum when interviewed.

Bilbo had answered that he wouldn’t _take_ a job where the interviewer treated him like a delinquent for having suffered a few setbacks in his life (which had been a lie, of course, but…)

Gandalf had responded that companies had a right to know their employees were going to stay the course, and not flit off to the next shiny thing in five seconds.

Bilbo had laughed an, admittedly bitter, laugh and reminded Gandalf he was a _temp_ agency. Surely he was supposed to be looking after the interests of his temps as well, not just the sodding companies. Had he considered treating them like _people_ with _lives_?

Which had quieted Gandalf nicely for about five seconds, until he’d begun to laugh and told Bilbo to come and sit back down and finish his interview.

If he’d been a little less desperate for work, Bilbo probably wouldn’t have done it, but he didn’t regret doing it. Gandalf wasn’t a bad recruitment consultant, just a bad-tempered one.

He’d agreed to take Bilbo on, as long as he refrained from losing his temper with anyone who had the power to sack him.

Nori, who did not hold the power to sack Bilbo and had, in fact, nearly put him in an awkward situation with the person who did?

Nori was in trouble.

‘Bilbo,’ Nori said, tipping back in his chair with his trademark sly grin. ‘What can I do you for?’

‘Where is that merger file?’ Bilbo demanded lowly, reaching the edge of Nori’s desk and putting his hands on it so that he could tilt over the top into Nori’s workspace. It wasn’t threatening. Bilbo just wasn’t a threatening sort of person, as a rule.

It was, however, deliberately rude, and that was enough to ensure Nori knew he meant business.

The other man came upright so fast that the springs in his chair twanged.

‘What file?’ Nori asked sharply, letting his momentum carry him the other way so that he was leaning towards Bilbo with his elbows on the desk. ‘I haven’t been in your office this week.’

‘Convenient, because the file that’s missing was in there _last_ week,’ Bilbo pointed out, still fuming. ‘Now Thorin’s looking for it, and it’s not where I left it. Where have I heard this story before, Nori?’

‘Doesn’t mean it’s me,’ Nori objected, brows pinched in a frown. ‘Not everything that goes missing around here is my fault!’

‘Most things that go missing around here are your fault,’ Bifur, clearly eavesdropping from the next desk over, reminded him helpfully. Nori looked thoroughly unamused.

Bilbo knew the feeling. That file was important, and he was beginning to get a sinking feeling about Nori’s seemingly honest confusion.

‘What’s going on?’ Ori asked at that moment, approaching from Balin’s office with Dori in tow and a concerned look on his face. Bilbo and Nori apparently had the same thought, for they both relaxed out of their confrontational stances quickly and tried to arrange normal expressions on their faces.

‘Slight misunderstanding, little brother,’ Nori replied easily, even as Dori eyed them warily and Ori glanced from one to the other with concern. ‘Bilbo’s misplaced a very important file.’

‘It was _in that drawer_ last week,’ Bilbo insisted, though he could feel a slight queasiness building in his stomach.

‘I’m sure it was, Bilbo,’ Nori replied, looking him dead in the eyes. ‘If it’s not there now, it _still doesn’t mean I took it_.’

‘Nori,’ the redhead stiffened as Dori drew his attention. Bilbo’s sick feeling deepened another notch when he saw how tense Nori had become as half the office, including both his brothers, stared at the pair of them. ‘You don’t have it?’ Dori asked plainly, his tone giving no hint of whether he thought that likely.

‘No,’ Nori stated bluntly. ‘I don’t.’

‘Then we need to turn your office upside down, Bilbo,’ Dori ordered a breath later. If there’d been a test, Nori had passed it. Bilbo, his conviction already faltering, wasn’t arguing with the senior admin and Nori’s _own brother_ about that. Shit. ‘It’s got to be in there somewhere.’

‘Umm,’ Bofur, who had stayed remarkably quiet and out of the way until now, broke in reluctantly. They all turned to him in surprise, because that was as close to a stutter as Bofur ever got and sounded unusually serious. ‘Look, I hate to say this, but if Thorin’s after the file, are we sure he didn’t already take it and put it down somewhere?’

‘Thorin?’ Dori asked incredulously, looking at Bofur as if he’d suddenly started spouting flames instead of words. ‘Thorin, who’s been meticulous about every record since we started this merger? Put a file down somewhere and wander off without it?’

‘Yeah, I know, Dori,’ Bofur partially conceded, holding his hands up, ‘but I went past Bilbo’s office earlier and Thorin asked him for the same thing how many times, Bilbo? And he’d put it somewhere he never had before. He’s distracted.’

‘Bugger,’ Bilbo muttered. When they looked at him in unison, he admitted, ‘He’s not wrong. That was only today, however. He’d have struggled to get it out of the drawer and lose it without me noticing.’

‘Worth checking anyway,’ Dori admitted. ‘Ori, Nori, turn Bilbo’s desk over. Bilbo, come on, we’re going ferreting in Thorin’s office. You’ll have to make sure he didn’t take it home, of course.’

Half an hour later, they’d found nothing and Bilbo’s excitement about his date was almost spoilt by the thought of asking Thorin if _he_ had the financial reports he’d specifically asked Bilbo to give him, which Bilbo was completely unable to find.

If it was just another file it would probably be fine, but these things were confidential. They shouldn’t just go missing.

Shit.

He caught sight of Fíli and Kíli standing just inside his office, surveying the brutal tidiness that came of having pulled everything apart and put it back together, and stiffened.

‘Bofur told us,’ Fíli said quietly. Bilbo felt himself pale, and Fíli’s concern seemed to overtake his whole body. ‘Hey, no. No, don’t do that. It’s just a file, Bilbo. Don’t let it spoil your evening.’ Fíli took three big steps forward and wrapped an arm around Bilbo’s shoulders, squeezing gently.

‘It’s confidential,’ Bilbo whispered, wishing he could get his voice to come out normally. Wishing he could stop lapsing into these panics when something went wrong, in fact, but somehow not able to stop it.

‘It will be around somewhere,’ Kíli insisted, with complete faith. ‘Stuff gets lost, it turns up. We have way too much paper for everything to be where it should be every time. The world doesn’t end when it goes missing. Bilbo,’ he reached out and tucked two fingers under Bilbo’s chin, tipping his head up just slightly, ‘breathe. Please. Have a nice time tonight. Worry about work tomorrow.’

That would be easier said than done, Bilbo knew, but he was supposed to be trying, wasn’t he? Trying to enjoy life. Trying not to be such a pessimist.

It was around somewhere. It would turn up. If it didn’t, he’d… deal with it. Somehow.

Okay. He could do this.

They stepped out of the room, grabbing Bilbo’s bag on the way and locking the door, and Bilbo realised that every other member of staff was still in the main office shutting down for the day.

They’d either abandoned their work to help him search or hung around to see how it turned out.

Bilbo’s nose and mouth twitched as he tried to blink back suspicious moisture from his eyes.

This ‘looking on the bright side’ thing might not be as hard as it sounded.

***

Bilbo and the boys were later getting back than Thorin expected, but he presumed that traffic was worse than normal. He spent the time chatting with Dís and Dwalin about very little, amused by the efforts Dís was going to _not_ to ask about his date.

He was fairly sure Dwalin had laid down the law, which was something he did once in a blue moon. The rarity only made it more effective when it happened.

‘We’re here, sorry!’ Kíli called as the door unlocked and various thumps and clatters ensued.

‘There’s no rush, we have plenty of time,’ Thorin called back, extremely glad that Bilbo had agreed not to hide things from his family. He could only imagine how awkward this would have been if they’d tried.

‘We’re going to grab our stuff and go, Mum,’ Fíli put in, still from the hallway.

‘Alright, darling. Come and say goodbye before you leave,’ Dís responded, and the stampede made its way upstairs. If Thorin were a more nervous man, he’d wonder if the boys had remembered to bring Bilbo with them, considering there was no evidence he was actually here.

‘Gone off to make himself pretty, probably,’ Dwalin jibed. Thorin rethought his earlier conclusion about laying down the law.

‘You don’t think I’m pretty enough as I am, Dwalin?’ a tentative jab came back, and they all looked over to see Bilbo standing in the doorway, smiling a little hesitantly. Thorin would have been worried about that but, of all of them, Bilbo was least comfortable with Dwalin. The hesitance was probably just from trying to tease.

‘Sorry, love, you’re not my type,’ Dwalin shot back easily. ‘You can take this lug off my hands if you want him, though.’

Bilbo turned his smile on Thorin and it grew a bit more confident.

‘Hmm,’ he responded thoughtfully. ‘I think I’ll take that bargain. Just give me a few minutes.’

‘Like I said, we have plenty of time,’ Thorin assured him. Bilbo smiled again and disappeared through the door.

‘You’re a tart,’ Thorin told Dwalin exasperatedly, ignoring Dís’ giggle. He didn’t know whose side she was on and it was safer not to ask. Dwalin just snorted and ignored Thorin as much as Thorin was ignoring Dís.

The stand-off only ended when Bilbo reappeared, before Fíli and Kíli had finished gathering their things, and announced he was ready to go.

‘Oh, how’s Bilbo getting to work in the morning?’ Dís said suddenly, just before they left. ‘Do I need to get the boys to pick him up?’

‘Your first meeting is in town,’ Bilbo told Thorin quickly, when Thorin’s mind went momentarily blank. Dís giggled again. Thorin continued ignoring her and Bilbo clearly decided to take matters into his own hands. ‘Yes, please, Dís, that would help. It’s not too far out of their way, is it? If it is, I can get the bus.’

‘No, they can do it easily. The bus is a nightmare from here, otherwise I wouldn’t drive to work. Right, go on, you may leave now.’

‘Thank you so much,’ Thorin said with exaggerated gratitude. ‘Your permission is much appreciated.’

‘Oh, just shut up and go,’ Dís huffed, rolling her eyes.

Thorin went, slipping his hand in Bilbo’s to encourage him to follow, before she could change her mind.

The Prancing Pony proved to be much as he remembered it. Old stone interiors and leather booths; low light issuing from lamps on the walls; still an inn feeling to it, even though most of it was a restaurant these days. The food was, indeed, wonderful and not so expensive that Bilbo flinched at the menu, so Thorin counted himself very satisfied on that front. Seeing Bilbo eat well was one of his new favourite things because he was convinced it hadn’t happened often enough in recent times. Not if he’d been hoarding his money the way Thorin thought he had, or earning as little as Thorin suspected.

As they chatted about small things from their childhoods, Thorin’s vision of a bright, happy but somewhat smothered child solidified in his mind. He spluttered his beer when Bilbo told him about ‘preparing for the apocalypse’ and responded with his own story about wanting sword-fighting lessons so he could go off to defeat dragons and protect the world from danger.

‘That lasted until I realised that I had plenty at home to protect, and no need to travel or defeat dragons in order to fulfil my duty,’ Thorin said wryly, and Bilbo gave him a soft look in return.

‘Your grandfather?’ he asked, curious but not in a prurient way that would have made Thorin clam up.

‘Partly,’ Thorin agreed. ‘Even before his madness took over he was… difficult, and we were in his custody more often than not. Our parents didn’t enjoy living under the thumb of a tyrant any more than we did, but they had the option of leaving. They took that option. Frequently. I lost my taste for the idea of quests and travel, after a while. Frerin and Dís needed someone at home.’

‘It would make me very sad, wouldn’t it,’ Bilbo asked quietly, ‘to know how old you were when you made that decision?’

Thorin shrugged. ‘Not as young as the boys were when they lost their father,’ he replied. ‘I’ll give my parents their due, they did _try_ when we were young. They just didn’t have the stamina for the long haul. It was easier to leave.’

Bilbo was quiet for some moments, and Thorin wondered if he’d said too much. That had all been rather heavy for a first date, after all. He could have smacked himself for it. Just because Bilbo knew one thing, didn’t mean he had to start throwing more of it at him.

‘I felt like Dad was running away, for a long time,’ Bilbo said, rather guiltily, breaking into Thorin’s thoughts. Thorin looked at him sharply, whilst making sure his face stayed relaxed and he didn’t do anything that might make Bilbo stop talking. ‘After Mum died, he got really depressed. So depressed that he couldn’t go to work and got signed off sick. He stopped cleaning the house, stopped taking care of himself properly. I was worried about him, but I didn’t realise how bad it was at the time. I was trying to finish my PhD work for the year as quickly as possible because I’d had time off after Mum. Then Dad… burned the house down.’

‘Oh Bilbo,’ Thorin said involuntarily, though he’d guessed something similar.

‘He didn’t mean to,’ Bilbo said immediately. ‘He lost interest in the middle of cooking and something caught fire and it just got out of control. But he hadn’t paid the insurance and we lost everything in there. We had to use her life insurance to rebuild, and Dad still couldn’t work because he was so bad. I gave up the PhD so I could earn and help him while paying off my debts. And through it all, this awful part of me thought: why do you get to give up? I have to keep going. I have to deal with the house you burnt down, and the bills you didn’t pay, and the home you want back but won’t lift a finger for. Why do you get to run away when I can’t?’

Thorin couldn’t stop himself, he reached out and tangled his fingers with Bilbo’s as he had in the office earlier, stroking Bilbo’s wrist with his thumb again.

‘He was sick,’ Bilbo murmured, voice full of shame. ‘He couldn’t help it. He’d just lost the love of his life. It was an awful thing to think.’

‘You were stressed and grieving. You couldn’t help it. You’d just lost your mum, and your dad wasn’t the person you remembered either. It was a perfectly natural thing to think,’ Thorin countered. He had completely revised his opinion of what was too heavy for a first date. Bilbo had clearly needed to get this off his chest for months and Thorin was thoroughly relieved he’d chosen to do it now rather than hold it in a moment longer.

‘Shouldn’t I…?’ Bilbo started. ‘If I was a better person, shouldn’t I have been unable to think it when he was ill?’

‘Bilbo, do you think I’m a terrible person?’ Thorin asked carefully.

‘No,’ Bilbo exclaimed. ‘No, of course not.’

Thorin nodded. Then he said, ‘When Thror was slipping further into his madness, becoming more and more difficult to manage, more than once I thought, “I wish you’d just die now.” He was wearing us to the bone, he was gaining nothing from living and I just wanted it over.’

Bilbo breathed deeply for a minute, audible from across the table, then squeezed Thorin’s hand.

‘It’s not the same, but I take your point,’ he said at last. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re the first person, other than those who were there, I’ve ever been able to bring myself to talk about Thror with,’ Thorin replied truthfully. ‘You’re not the only one who’s grateful. Now, shall we try and talk about happier things for a while?’

Wonder of wonders, they managed. It helped that Thorin had a nearly endless supply of ‘absurd things the boys did when they were younger’ stories to tell, and that each one tended to tease out another part of Bilbo that Thorin didn’t know yet.

Or had forgotten. His PhD had been in Creative Writing, had it? Well, that was interesting.

By the time Thorin paid the bill, with only a minimum of objection from Bilbo, he’d had one of the best evenings he could remember.

******


	15. Tone

Chapter Fifteen: Tone

Bilbo felt like sneaking back into a house after a date should be _better_ when you were an adult, not worse. After all, it wasn’t his parents waiting up for him, ready to grill him with fifty questions about the person he’d been with; and where’d they’d gone (you didn’t go anywhere except the cinema, did you, Bilbo? You promised); and what they’d done (there better not have been any funny business, young man!)

Yet, somehow, this was worse.

Now that he was an adult, it wasn’t his own family he was worried about waking and receiving the third degree from.

It was his date’s.

This struck Bilbo as somehow unfair, but he’d forgive the universe if he could finish getting his shoes off without falling over, and get upstairs without having to see anyone.

‘Well, you’re quieter than the boys, I’ll give you that,’ a gruff voice rumbled.

So much for not falling over. Bugger.

‘Evening, Dwalin,’ Bilbo said as confidently as he could manage from the floor. He probably sounded like a cross between a mouse and a startled cat. The ex-soldier scared the living daylights out of him.

‘Evening,’ Dwalin returned, far more easily. A lamp snapped on in the hallway, making it much simpler for Bilbo to finish taking his shoes off, and Bilbo could see the amused smirk on Dwalin’s face.

Ah, humiliation. Bilbo’s old friend.

‘Oh, don’t look at me like that, lad,’ Dwalin grumbled. ‘A couple of days ago, they were regaling you with tales of me getting kicked in the nuts at the bottom of this staircase. What have _you_ got to be embarrassed about?’

Bilbo couldn’t help it. Spluttered laughter escaped before he even realised he was going to laugh.

‘Better,’ Dwalin stated, sounding less grumpy almost instantly. He crossed his arms loosely over his chest, but it didn’t feel intimidating. It was as if Dwalin had fallen into a pose that was so natural, it was as easy as breathing.

Bilbo imagined it would still have been thoroughly intimidating to the men Dwalin had had under his command in the army, if he’d changed his expression and his stance just a… touch.

But he wasn’t trying to intimidate Bilbo, he was just standing there, watching him.

Shaking his head slightly.

‘Try not to look so scared every time I glance at you, lad,’ Dwalin said after a moment of silence. ‘Yes, sometimes I’m their defence against the rest of the world,’ he gestured upstairs, which Bilbo took to mean Durins both present and absent, ‘if they need it, but I don’t spend my life throwing people into walls, or snapping necks, or whatever you seem to have been imagining. Mostly, when I was on leave, I was a stay-at-home parent. I’m really not that frightening. As long as you don’t go around deliberately hurting Thorin, or one of the others, we’ll get on perfectly well.’

He paused for another second, but Bilbo didn’t seem to be able to speak. Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t… that. His brain was stalling as he tried to find a response.

Apparently, Dwalin took his silence as an answer.

‘Goodnight, Bilbo,’ he said quietly, then headed upstairs.

It was only then that Bilbo realised he hadn’t spoken a word since, _Evening, Dwalin_.

He still wasn’t sure what he should have said.

***

Despite the random encounter with Dwalin, Bilbo slept remarkably well; buoyed by the joyous feeling of a successful date with Thorin and the, increasingly familiar, sensation of understanding that came from speaking about his family troubles and finding empathy returned.

It was a feeling he was noticing, on a smaller scale, with Kíli, Fíli, Dís, Ori and others in the office as well. One he’d almost forgotten in the mayhem of the last few years. It left him feeling lighter and easier, so it was perhaps no wonder he was sleeping better.

It was perhaps a good thing, too, because he sorely needed the resulting energy when he arrived at work and remembered what he needed to speak to Thorin about.

That blasted file.

Oh Yavanna.

Alright. Thorin was in town this morning, so Bilbo had time. He needed to work this through.

The file had originally been sent to them by Woodland a week and a half ago, as part of a bundle of suggested terms for the merger. Thorin and a few others had had a meeting two days later to discuss it, had marked the document up and given it back to Bilbo for editing. Bilbo had edited it before the meeting with Thranduil, Balin had merged his changes into the larger contract they were working on and Bilbo had stored the original in his desk.

The only reason Thorin could want it was to look at the original terms that Woodland had sent over. They had the follow-up work elsewhere, so it wasn’t a disaster if it couldn’t be found. In fact, Bilbo could get a copy of the original terms if needed to. All he had to do was ask Elros. The other man could just email him one over.

Still, that would be embarrassing for Prospect. Much better if they could find it here.

Which meant he needed to ask Thorin if he was _sure_ he didn’t actually have the file somewhere, because Bilbo simply could not remember moving it anywhere else. They’d looked _everywhere_ yesterday.

Thorin was the only explanation.

Curse it.

Bilbo worked through his to-do list as methodically as possible for the next two hours, reining his mind back in like an unruly horse whenever it tried to wander off into other pastures – like fretting. Apparently the grass in the fretting pasture was quite tasty.

He had most of a PhD in Creative Writing, wasn’t he meant to be better at imagery than that?

Either way, he accomplished work, mostly, and chatted gently with Bofur when the other man appeared to provide him with a cup of tea and an easy smile to lighten the morning.

‘All alright then?’ Bofur asked quietly, once Bilbo had thanked him for the tea and been waved off. He perched on the edge of Bilbo’s desk, and Bilbo briefly wondered why he even had extra chairs, given that no one in the office seemed to use them.

‘Yes, fine,’ Bilbo replied, mostly truthfully. ‘Quiet so far.’

Bofur snorted.

‘Generally is when Thorin’s out. No one around to breathe drama like oxygen.’

Bilbo coughed on his sip of tea and followed the cough with, ‘Kíli!’

‘Well, yeah, true enough,’ Bofur conceded with a shrug. ‘Different type of drama, though, isn’t it? The boss is more… epic tragedy drama. Kíli just tends to appear at random and burst into song. Like a musical.’

Now Bilbo had to put the cup down so he didn’t drop it while he breathed through his laughter.

‘Do you have theatrical genres for all of them?’ he asked curiously, once he’d stopped.

‘Most,’ Bofur said, winking. ‘Think I’ll keep the rest to myself for now, though. Never know when I might need to surprise a laugh out of you.’

‘Oh, now, that’s just not fair,’ Bilbo objected. ‘I’m going to be dying of curiosity all day about what I am!’

‘Haven’t worked that one out yet,’ Bofur admitted, looking almost… shy. ‘Been thinking about it, but I was wrong the first time so I need to have a rethink. I’ll let you know when I get there.’

Bilbo thought he might actually be pouting, if the startled look Bofur was giving him was anything to go by.

‘No, no, none of that,’ Bofur ordered, sterner than Bilbo had ever heard him. ‘That’s not on. You can have one more and that’s it.’ Bilbo smiled brightly and opened his mouth to request… he wasn’t sure actually, but Bofur held a finger up. ‘Nori,’ he told Bilbo, with just the slightest hint of scolding in it. ‘Superhero film. He’s got a secret identity, our Nori, under all the attitude and office kleptomania. He uses that stuff to distract from the way he protects everyone around him and takes care of them.’

‘So I should be a little slower to jump to conclusions,’ Bilbo finished for him, ruefully.

‘Just a thought,’ Bofur offered, moving to leave. Even as he did so, a thought occurred to Bilbo and, oddly, he found himself pushing; a few weeks ago, he wouldn’t have dreamed of doing such a thing.

‘What are you then?’ he called quietly after Bofur. Bofur chuckled in response. It almost sounded like there was a tinge of sadness to it but, with Bofur’s back to him, Bilbo couldn’t see his expression. Perhaps he was just imagining things. Bofur’s reply certainly seemed humorous enough.

‘Would have thought that was obvious,’ he returned lightly, as he headed through the door. ‘Farce!’

***

Thorin was feeling particularly cheerful when he arrived back at the office. He’d had a fantastic evening, and a productive morning so far. Now, even better, he would get to see Bilbo when he went upstairs.

He’d have to dodge Balin for ten minutes or so in order to speak to Bilbo before getting dragged into a meeting, but he had years of experience at doing that. He could always ask Fíli to go and talk to Balin about Marketing budgets. That would buy him fifteen minutes easily.

It wasn’t misuse of staff resources if his staff were having important conversations.

In the end, however, he didn’t have to worry. Balin appeared to be holed up in his office doing something that distracted him adequately, so Thorin made it into Bilbo’s office quite easily.

Mahal was smiling on him today.

Bilbo was not smiling, disappointingly. He was looking rather pensive, in fact, even as he scrawled notes on the document in front of him.

‘Bilbo?’ Thorin asked, when his entrance didn’t prompt any reaction. ‘Is everything alright?’

‘Oh!’ Bilbo said loudly, turning the chair quickly to face him. ‘Thorin, you’re back. How did it go?’

‘Very well, thank you,’ Thorin replied, despite feeling that they were being absurdly polite. ‘I don’t think we’ll have any trouble renewing that contract. You look rather thoughtful…’

He left the statement open, hoping Bilbo would finish it. Bilbo seemed to shake himself, and finally smiled.

‘I suppose I was, a bit,’ he conceded. ‘Bofur said some things this morning that I needed to think about. Especially because I,’ he stopped, so briefly Thorin might not have noticed the break if Bilbo hadn’t steeled himself visibly, then continued. ‘Thorin, I jumped to the wrong conclusion yesterday. Nori _didn’t_ have that file. He hasn’t been anywhere near it. I don’t suppose you’ve taken it home with you at some point?’

‘No,’ Thorin answered, rather slowly, as his mind attempted to jump conversational track. They’d gone from Bofur to Nori rather quickly. ‘If I had it, I wouldn’t have asked you for it. You’re certain Nori didn’t take it?’

‘Absolutely,’ Bilbo said firmly, and Thorin wasn’t inclined to doubt him when he spoke like that. He just nodded in response.

‘And you’ve looked elsewhere?’ he gestured around the office.

‘We’ve had the place turned upside down,’ Bilbo informed him wryly. ‘Half your team was in here yesterday helping me look. My office, your office… nowhere to be found.’

Thorin pondered for a moment, trying to think it through, then sighed.

‘You must have accidentally put it in the shredding.’

Bilbo stared at him, and Thorin returned the look with confusion. ‘What?’

‘Why is that more likely than you taking it home and forgetting?’ Bilbo asked, momentarily indignant. The indignation calmed as quickly as it had come, however. ‘I can’t remember doing so, Thorin, and I’ve thought everything through half a dozen times at this point. It was in that drawer the last time I saw it.’

‘I can’t remember taking it home, Bilbo,’ Thorin countered, shrugging. ‘My explanation doesn’t require it to have left the office, or me to have gone into your locked drawer; that’s the sort of thing I would remember doing, I think.’

‘Like you’d remember putting Faramir’s manuscript in your desk drawer?’ Bilbo muttered, then immediately bit his lip as if he hadn’t meant to say that. Thorin didn’t know whether to be irritated or amused, but he quickly settled on amused.

‘I don’t think yesterday was the best day for _either_ of us,’ he pointed out, and Bilbo had the grace to nod as he blushed.

‘Check my laptop bag if it will make you feel better,’ Thorin suggested, gesturing to the case at his feet. ‘There aren’t any files at the flat, I make sure of it every Sunday evening. If it was anywhere, it would be in there.’ Bilbo reached down almost reluctantly and made a quick but thorough search of the bag. As Thorin had expected, the file didn’t appear and Bilbo looked back at him tentatively, almost as if he expected Thorin to be angry.

Thorin supposed he could have been, but if Bilbo had accidentally shredded a confidential file… well, it was now _very_ securely kept, wasn’t it? There was certainly no use crying over it after the fact.

‘So we’ll just have to get another copy,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘Can you do that?’

‘Yes,’ Bilbo agreed without hesitation. Thorin didn’t think he was imagining the tone of relief. ‘I’ll talk to Elros.’

‘Then that’s the easiest option, certainly,’ Thorin told him. ‘Otherwise we’re just wasting time. Tell Elros we’d appreciate getting a copy as soon as possible, but don’t tell him why, please.’

Bilbo nodded and then, suddenly, everything was a bit awkward. They’d slipped so immediately into work mode that coming out of it now felt… odd.

Even so, Thorin didn’t want to leave things like this.

‘Bilbo,’ he proffered into the short silence that had fallen. Bilbo looked up, which was when Thorin realised he’d been staring at the laptop bag again, ‘last night was lovely. I hope we can do it again soon.’

Apparently, that was all it took. Bilbo relaxed, that beautiful smile returned, and Thorin felt himself breathe more easily as he returned it.

‘So do I,’ Bilbo told him. ‘I don’t have nearly enough blackmail material on your nephews yet. Besides, I need to tell you about the oddest conversation I had with Dwalin last night.’

Thorin thought he probably blanched.

‘Words to fill me with horror,’ he said, a little unsteadily. ‘What in Mahal’s name has he been up to this time?’

Bilbo actually giggled - which released another knot in Thorin’s stomach that he hadn’t noticed until it was gone - but refused to explain.

‘No, not now,’ he said firmly. ‘This is work time. Go on, I need to phone Elros.’ Thorin began to move away but, even as he did so, the bag in the corner of the room caught his eye.

‘Oh, are you going home today?’ he asked, not sure why he was surprised. Bilbo’s stay at Dís’ had only ever been meant to last a few days, after all.

‘I am,’ Bilbo said, sounding satisfied if not quite happy. ‘I now have functioning heating again, and a perfectly liveable flat.’

‘Hmm,’ Thorin murmured, hoping his disbelief wasn’t obvious. Fíli had mentioned where Bilbo lived and Thorin… was a snob, yes, he would admit it. ‘How about Wednesday night then?’ When Bilbo raised an eyebrow, he added, ‘For non-work time?’

‘I will begin to feel spoilt,’ Bilbo teased, but he was nodding and Thorin could tell he was pleased at Thorin’s… eagerness. Thorin wasn’t too proud to call a thing by its name.

‘Good,’ Thorin said happily. ‘Wednesday it is. And it’s your turn to pick what we do!’

***

Bilbo dialled Elros’ number, listened to the phone ring two or three times, heard the cut-off as it was picked up and then…

Silence.

Silence.

More silence.

‘Good afternoon, Woodland Online, Elros speaking,’ he got finally.

‘Hi Elros,’ Bilbo said tentatively, and he heard a gust of breath and a slightly relieved laugh.

‘Bilbo,’ Elros replied guiltily. ‘I’m glad that was you. Do you ever completely forget where you are?’

‘And what I’m doing and sometimes who I am as well,’ Bilbo concurred, laughing as he realised what had happened. He’d had those mental blanks when he picked up the phone as well.

‘So embarrassing,’ Elros muttered. ‘I did it with the CEO of Rohan the other day. The woman thinks I’m a blithering idiot. I mean she’s not _wrong_ but, you know, standards to maintain and all that.’

‘You’re alright,’ Bilbo reassured him, wishing again that he could meet Elros in person. The man was easily his favourite work contact and he was hysterical. ‘Besides, I’m about to sound like a right twit, so we’ll even out.’

‘Oh, yes, how can I help?’ was the immediate reply, and any tension Bilbo had felt released.

‘There’s this financial file you sent over…’ he started. Three minutes later a copy was sitting in his inbox, he and Elros had commiserated over things that wouldn’t stay where you put them (like _bosses_ , for example), and Elros was off in search of another cup of tea.

Bilbo saved the document somewhere secure, hit print, and contemplated getting another cup himself.

The morning hadn’t turned out so badly, after all.

******


	16. Foolishness

Chapter Sixteen: Foolishness

Bilbo was honest enough, inside his own head, to admit that going back to his flat was a bit of a disappointment.

It had only been a few days, of course, so it wasn’t as if he was wailing and gnashing his teeth and feeling as if the world was ending.

He was just feeling a bit of a let-down.

Dís’ house was so beautiful, and well-maintained, and… homely.

Yes, alright, and Dwalin was a really good cook too.

And it had the advantage of company, which Bilbo hadn’t even realised he was missing until he’d had it again. His flat was terribly quiet, in a very noisy sort of way. That way where all the noise came from your neighbours crashing and banging around, turning their TVs up, coming and going in the hall. Not from anyone talking to you.

Yavanna, he needed to stop thinking about this or he was going to talk himself past disappointment and straight into despair.

This was adult life, he reminded himself. You grew up, you moved into your own place and you spent some nights alone. It was not the end of the world.

Duly scolded, he’d just got up off the sofa to make himself dinner when his phone buzzed twice. Bilbo frowned at it, as you would at a misbehaving puppy.

 _You don’t ring_ , he hoped his expression conveyed to it. _You are for outgoing messages and calls only. This is_ unacceptable _behaviour_.

Either his expression failed to get the message across, or the phone was utterly unconcerned.

Accepting his failure, Bilbo reached out tentatively and tapped the screen to see what his unruly device was up to.

 **O got 10 pizzas not 1!!!** the screen read. **D fuming. All hands on deck 2 eat. 55 Clovis Street. N**

Bilbo continued staring for about a minute before his brain caught up and began to parse it.

O D N. O D N.

Ori, Dori, Nori.

Oh, poor Ori! He’d be mortified. No wonder Nori was calling in the cavalry. At least if they all paid a bit, Dori wouldn’t have a £150 pizza bill on his hands.

Even so…

 **Where did you get my number?** Bilbo texted back.

 **D’s desk** , was the almost instantaneous reply, accompanied by an eyeroll emoji which Bilbo felt was wholly unnecessary.

Then again, Bilbo had accused Nori of theft and lying on Monday. Perhaps Nori felt that should have made the answer obvious. Bilbo was hoping that the pizza invitation was a mark of forgiveness.

He looked the address up on his phone, then texted back, **Be there in 15 mins**.

Turned out, Nori and co. didn’t live that far from him.

***

Of course, they lived in a nicer area, but didn’t everyone? It was a quiet residential street; little semi-detached houses with small, cracked drives and low metal gates giving a pretence of privacy from the street. All the lights were on inside No. 55, and Bilbo could hear raised voices and laughter even as he approached and rang the bell. There was a growing thump of feet as someone came to the door, then it was flung open by a flushed-looking Ori.

‘Bilbo!’ he exclaimed, sounding happy at Bilbo’s arrival but blushing even harder. Bilbo was a soft touch. His heart melted.

‘Poor Ori, have they all been giving you grief?’ he asked softly. Ori let out a little moan.

‘It was an _accident_ ,’ he said softly. ‘I must have clicked in the wrong direction or something, but they all think it’s hilarious, and Dori’s so mad at me.’

‘He’ll get over it,’ Bilbo reassured, even though he felt like a bit of a fraud. He didn’t know Dori that well, after all. Perhaps the man held grudges… over ridiculous things like accidentally ordering too much pizza.

No, Bilbo just couldn’t see it.

‘He’s already over it,’ Dori sighed, treading quietly down the stairs. He’d obviously been at the top when Bilbo arrived and heard their exchange. ‘You found a solution, little one, what’s there for me to be mad about?’ he asked Ori in exasperation, prodding gently at his brother’s stomach when he reached the hallway. ‘Admittedly, I wasn’t intending to have the solution camped out in my living room this evening, but we’ve had worse evenings.’

‘A&E,’ Ori said sagely, and Dori laughed and nodded. Bilbo felt there was an inside joke there he was missing.

‘Police station,’ Dori added, and now Bilbo knew he was missing the joke.

‘Balcony of the council flat,’ Ori concluded, and he and Dori both winced.

‘Everyone thinks they’re a bloody wit,’ Nori complained, ducking into the hallway from the living room and catching the end of this exchange. ‘Not my fault you all live boring lives.’

‘We don’t, though, do we?’ Ori shot back immediately. ‘It’s never boring, because you’re always in it bringing your very own brand of excitement.’

‘And tonight the excitement I’ve brought you is Bilbo,’ Nori said, smoothly switching topics. ‘Who hasn’t a clue what we’re talking about and would probably like some of the pizza he was promised!’

‘Well, if it’s not too much trouble,’ Bilbo commented, letting just a little sarcasm creep in so he could get a smirk out of Nori. It worked, and Bilbo felt a little more confident that his accusations earlier in the week were forgiven.

‘Come on,’ Nori commanded, tugging at him, ‘the boys were worried you’d changed your mind.’

And somehow, Bilbo’s quiet evening alone became an evening of pizza, quick verbal jabs to convince the others to leave Ori alone, and resulting laughter.

It was only when he was walking home that he realised it had now been at least five days since he’d applied for a permanent job.

***

He didn’t get a chance to apply the next night either. Not with a date to go on.

Bilbo had appreciated Thorin’s challenge that he pick this time. It made things feel more even, somehow, and it gave Bilbo some control over his spending. He was better off than he’d been even a month ago, but he wasn’t exactly rolling in it.

Still, choosing where they should go was nerve-wracking. Difficult, too. It didn’t feel like there were a lot of places to go when you didn’t have much money to spend.

Or maybe Bilbo just lacked imagination.

He’d worried at the problem all through his lunchbreak on Tuesday, in spare moments that evening, and he was still worrying at it now, on Wednesday lunchtime.

It would help if he’d dated someone since he finished his undergraduate degree. He might feel a bit more adult about the whole thing.

‘Something you wouldn’t have done as a teenager, Bilbo,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Come on…’

Bugger, this would be so much easier if it was summer. Who started dating in November, anyway? It was a stupid time of the year to do anything.

Thorin wandered through, on his way back from talking to Balin, and Bilbo immediately shut the browser window on his computer and turned back to his lunch. He could feel Thorin looking at him, sense the hitch in his stride as he almost paused, but then Thorin obviously made the decision to keep going and disappeared into his own room.

Thank Yavanna.

Pity they’d already done the Yule Market with the boys, Bilbo mused as he pulled his tabs back up. That was the sort of thing you could do with a date in winter and not freeze your arse off completely.

Yule Market, Bilbo’s mind pinged suddenly, as if someone had hit the bell on a reception desk. The Market, which was right next to…

Bilbo did a quick search, clicked through a website, and let out a small whoop of triumph that was far more enthusiastic than this discovery probably warranted.

The Museum currently had a late-night exhibition on, free as long as you booked a ticket.

Even better, the subject was illuminated manuscripts.

Bilbo booked immediately, before the mirage could disappear.

***

That evening, as he and Thorin wandered the exhibition, Bilbo felt unutterably smug. That enraptured expression on Thorin’s face made him even more gorgeous than usual, it meant he was happy, and _Bilbo had put it there_.

He could date like an adult. Who knew?

‘I haven’t been here in years,’ Thorin murmured, as if reluctant to raise his voice even though they were far from alone in the exhibition space. ‘Probably not since the last time the boys needed supervision on a school visit. We should do this again during the daytime, when all of the galleries are open. It must be completely different from what I remember.’

‘I haven’t been here at all,’ Bilbo answered. ‘It was never relevant to my research. I went to the National Library a few times, but not here. We should definitely come back.’

Thorin grinned at him and asked, ‘This weekend?’ a little cheekily.

‘I might have something important to do,’ Bilbo protested, for form’s sake. When Thorin raised an eyebrow, Bilbo got up his courage and pinched his hand in revenge. Then he conceded, ‘Alright, I don’t, but I might have! You could be a very demanding date if I let you, couldn’t you?’

He was only teasing, but somehow it seemed to hit home and Thorin’s eyes went dark as he turned back to the display case before them.

‘I’ve been accused of it, a time or two,’ he said reluctantly, refusing to meet Bilbo’s eyes. Bilbo felt terrible. Clearly he’d stepped on a sore spot. A very sore spot, if Thorin’s tense back was any indication.

Reaching out with one hand, Bilbo pushed and tugged at Thorin’s fingers until they loosened enough to let him slip his palm against Thorin’s and twine their fingers together.

Thorin looked over reluctantly, though he was relaxing fractionally, and Bilbo shook the hand he’d grasped a little.

‘Thorin, I was teasing,’ he insisted, keeping his voice gentle. ‘You’re quite aware how barren my social life is after last weekend. The biggest commitments I had were my shopping and a phone call to my dad. Besides, suggesting a day for a date _isn’t_ demanding. It was a joke.’

He took a leaf out of Thorin’s book and began rubbing his thumb over Thorin’s wrist, though it was a little harder for Bilbo to reach (damn tall people).

‘Of course,’ Thorin said, and he smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. Bilbo knew it wasn’t truly alright, but he feared pushing the wrong way and hitting another sore spot. When Thorin followed up with, ‘The detail on this one is exquisite. You can’t believe they did it all by hand, can you?’ Bilbo let it go.

It was easy enough to do. After a minute or two, it was hard to remember anything had happened at all. Particularly when Thorin was so determined to distract him with stories of bygone excesses…

‘In crayon?’ he gasped with horror, and he knew he must be staring at Thorin wide-eyed. ‘On a _first edition_.’

‘Oh yes,’ Thorin confirmed. ‘The little bastard wasn’t the slightest bit abashed either, when I pointed out what he’d done. All I got was, “I needed drawing paper, Thorin!” As if that would have stopped Thror thrashing him into next week if he’d been caught.’ Thorin shook his head disbelievingly, clearly despairing at the memory even after all these years.

‘He didn’t get caught, I take it?’ Bilbo asked, even as he caught the reference to thrashing and tucked it away in his mental picture of Thorin’s upbringing.

‘Oh, Mahal, no,’ Thorin stated definitely. ‘I knew even then that most of the books in the library were for show. I hid that one in amongst the dustiest lot at the back and promoted something else to its normal spot. I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to convince Thror that I’d drawn a picture of a giant blue elephant and signed it “Frerin”, on the off chance he found the evidence, but I’d have come up with something.’ Thorin suddenly snorted. ‘You know, I’ve just realised it’s probably still there. It’s been so long since I thought about that, I don’t think it’s ever been moved. I should go and find it; Dís would want to have it to show the boys.’

‘Frerin is…?’ Bilbo asked tentatively, not sure what the answer was, but sure it wasn’t good. He’d never seen any sign of the youngest Durin sibling. In a family this tight-knit, that wasn’t a positive sign.

‘Frerin’s been gone a long time,’ was all Thorin said in response, but his lips quirked gently enough that Bilbo didn’t feel slapped down. He just nodded, a quiet assurance that he wouldn’t ask any more.

‘You can’t tell me that every book in the Baggins household escaped your childhood unscathed, surely,’ Thorin teased as they moved on, drawing Bilbo to a stop in front of an ancient copy of the The Children of Húrin, open to a depiction of Beleg bound (Bilbo absent-mindedly tried to work out _which_ of the incidents where poor doomed Beleg got captured this happened to be).

‘I did not draw on books,’ Bilbo said loftily, his tone that of one who felt such pursuits were beneath him. ‘I required a proper canvas.’

Thorin eyed him carefully, little laugh wrinkles appearing, as if he knew this was going somewhere good and he was just waiting for it.

‘I drew on Mum’s brand-new white wallpaper in the dining room,’ Bilbo admitted. ‘She shrieked so loudly the neighbours woke up, and I wasn’t allowed crayons unsupervised for a year. I wasn’t even allowed to play unsupervised for a month. It was the worst punishment my childish mind could conceive,’ he said mournfully. ‘I thought she was crueller than Morgoth.’

Thorin suppressed laughter that would probably have had them thrown out of the exhibit and patted Bilbo’s shoulder consolingly.

‘I was still less dramatic than Túrin,’ Bilbo points out, just as Thorin finished laughing. ‘Who goes around calling themselves “the wronged” and “Master of Doom”, for goodness’ sake? That’s just inviting trouble.’

They didn’t get thrown out, but only because the member of staff who came over to scold them turned out to appreciate Bilbo’s insights as much as Thorin did.

***

‘If I was Túrin,’ Bilbo informed his computer a couple of days later, ‘I would be naming myself “the generally pissed off” right now. How does one say that in the ancient tongues?’

‘With great difficulty, darling. I wouldn’t recommend it as a new name,’ Thorin said wryly, setting a cup of tea down on his desk. ‘Why are you generally pissed off?’

‘Hang on, do you actually know how to say that in the ancient tongues?’ Bilbo asked, startled, feeling that this was an important question.

‘In Khuzdul, yes,’ Thorin replied, then demonstrated. ‘Not in the others. It was one of the strange things my family insisted I learn as I was growing up. Dís and I sometimes used it when we wanted to talk over the boys’ heads so, of course, they learned it too as soon as they could. Occasionally we all lapse into it and Dwalin throws things at us. He knows bits and pieces, but he’s not fluent.’

‘That is…,’ Bilbo began, then trailed off when he couldn’t choose an appropriate description.

‘Yes, quite,’ Thorin said. ‘That tone of wondering silence is often the best way of handling Durin family business. Now, why are you pissed off?’

Bilbo huffed lightly.

‘You weren’t meant to hear that,’ he told Thorin. ‘It’s just an annoyance. I sent the pre-reading for Monday’s meeting to Woodland like we agreed, and they’ve just emailed back to say that it wasn’t attached to my email. Now they want to delay the meeting because they haven’t had time to prepare.’

Thorin frowned. His proper frown, which showed true irritation rather than just thinking something through.

‘That’s going to put the negotiations behind schedule, isn’t it?’ he asked a little sharply.

‘The meeting would have been Monday, I’m going to suggest Tuesday instead,’ Bilbo assured him. ‘You have a couple of free slots. Elros will work with me. We’ll get it sorted. It’s not a problem, Thorin, just an annoyance.’

Most of the frown cleared and he nodded. ‘Good. If you have any trouble, let me know and we’ll look at the diary together. We can shunt something else to make room if we have to.’

Buggering emails, Bilbo thought as Thorin moved away. How did a file manage to unattach itself, anyway?

It was only about half an hour later that another thought occurred.

Since when did Thorin call him ‘darling’?

***

‘We’re going for drinks, Bilbo, are you coming?’ Kíli said, sticking his head round the door at five to five. Bilbo - who’d spent a frustrating afternoon with an equally-frustrated Elros trying to make the diaries match up and being constantly interrupted by phone calls and ‘urgent’ emails - probably looked at Kíli like he’d offered a lottery win. ‘ _Oh_ , that sort of day, was it?’ Kíli said knowingly.

‘YES,’ Bilbo replied fervently, then cast a nervous glance at Thorin’s office when a loud laugh emanated from it. They’d had the door open for most of the afternoon, so they could call back and forth about moving appointments.

‘Thank goodness for Friday, hmm?’ Thorin joked as he joined them, still laughing.

‘It’s a beautiful invention,’ Kíli agreed, sparing Bilbo the need to open his mouth. ‘As is the pub. Come on, Bilbo, grab your stuff.’

Who was Bilbo to argue with that sort of order?

‘Ah, these are the sorts of drinks to which I’m specifically not invited, then?’ Thorin grumbled disappointedly. Kíli looked momentarily shamefaced.

‘Maybe,’ he offered tentatively. Then, ‘Poor Uncle, we have been leaving you out a lot lately, haven’t we? Next time, promise.’

‘I’ll hold you to that,’ Thorin threatened lightly. Bilbo saw him grab his coat and realised that Thorin had already had his bag with him when he left his office. Clearly he wasn’t planning to work late tonight, for he turned to lock the door as well. ‘For now, however, I’ll see if I’m permitted to cross your Mum’s threshold. Alcohol and Dwalin’s cooking sound like as good a plan as any.’

He crossed to them, tousled Kíli’s hair affectionately, then leaned over and pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s cheek before leaving.

Bilbo hoped the glare he gave a grinning Kíli wasn’t ruined by his blush.

He suspected it was a fool’s hope.

******


	17. Cracking

Chapter Seventeen: Cracking

Sunday found Bilbo and Thorin diving into the museum with great relief to escape the utter downpour that had overtaken the city for the weekend. Thorin had done his best to shield them both with his umbrella, but no mere umbrella was truly equipped to protect against that much water. Bilbo’s lower half was soaked, particularly after he’d failed to spot a puddle formed by a dip in the road.

Thorin had caught him before he went ankle deep in it – literally lifting him over the top in a way that Bilbo did _not_ find attractive, thank you very much – but it had been too late to prevent the water seeping into every gap in Bilbo’s shoes.

They were old shoes. There were plenty of gaps.

Now, Thorin hurried them to the coat room and paid the charge to store their wet things away. He gave the young teenager running the place a wide smile when she promised to hang their coats up instead of just stuffing them away to soak somewhere.

‘You don’t get many people brave enough to visit us on a day like this,’ she told Thorin shyly, obviously as blinded by the smile as Bilbo. ‘I’ve got plenty of room.’

They thanked her, and then Thorin startled Bilbo with a burst of practicality.

‘Toilets,’ he said suddenly, seemingly apropos to nothing at first. When Bilbo just blinked at him, unresponsive, he added, ‘Go and use the hand dryers, Bilbo. They’re not going to get you completely dry, not as soaked as you are, but it’s got to be better than spending all day like this!’

Oh, Bilbo thought. Then, _ohhh_.

Oh, that sounded so much better than just standing here like this.

He wasn’t sure he remembered to say anything to Thorin before he was off like a shot.

It was probably a good thing Thorin was going the same way he was.

15 minutes later, at least they weren’t squelching so much anymore, and Bilbo thought he might be able to focus on the exhibits instead of a resounding chorus of, ‘Yuck, yuck, yuck,’ in his head all morning.

Not that Thorin was finished, he discovered.

‘Coffee,’ Thorin said determinedly, as soon as they exited the toilets. Clearly he was a man on a mission.

Given his usual coffee intake, Bilbo was less than surprised. He was probably due for withdrawal jitters if he hadn’t had any yet. Not that Bilbo was going to complain. He rather fancied a cup of tea himself.

He gave the girl in the coat room a quick wave as Thorin towed him past and she giggled and waved back. Bilbo imagined they did look rather amusing. Thorin was attacking the problem of the rain in much the same way as he dealt with problems at work. Single-minded focus which rather proved why Dís had invented ‘The Rules’.

Bilbo thought it was quite adorable, really, though if it went on much longer then he’d be obliged to put his foot down.

He wouldn’t put up with being half-dragged for anything less than tea.

A few minutes later, they were seated at a table with their respective hot drinks in front of them… and Thorin flushed darkly and completely clammed up.

Bilbo let it go for a couple of minutes, then he pointedly prompted, ‘Thorin?’

‘Did you have any ideas about where you wanted to look first?’ Thorin asked him quickly, not meeting Bilbo’s eyes.

‘I did, actually, but we both know that wasn’t what I was asking,’ Bilbo replied, with only a hint of impatience.

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Thorin objected, which only irritated Bilbo, if he was to be honest.

‘Oh, of course, museums reduce your intelligence level. I should have realised,’ he muttered under his breath.

He regretted it when he saw Thorin’s flinch. Though the flinch did at least remind him what had turned Thorin tense the last time they were here.

Someone, at some point, had told Thorin that he was a demanding date. Or perhaps an overbearing one. And they weren’t entirely wrong, in some situations, but goodness, they must have said it with some venom to have Thorin slipping back into his shell like this whenever he spotted himself taking charge.

‘Thorin, I don’t mind, you know,’ Bilbo said, exasperation probably colouring his tone.

Thorin still wouldn’t look at him. Bilbo sighed as he realised that he wasn’t going to get away with being vague – mostly because Thorin would just continue pretending nothing was wrong and ignore every word out of Bilbo’s mouth that wasn’t, _Let’s start with the section on Ancient Worship of Mahal, shall we?_

‘You’re allowed to make perfectly sensible decisions about what we should do, to make life better for both of us,’ Bilbo persisted. ‘If I object to any of them, I promise you’ll hear about it.’

That, at least, seemed to get through to Thorin. He finally looked at Bilbo and, while he was still frowning fiercely, he wasn’t ignoring the conversation anymore.

‘Would you?’ Thorin asked after a few seconds, cautiously. ‘We both know you’re in a… delicate situation, Bilbo, and I’ve been told I can be pushy.’

‘My situation’s not that much more delicate than yours,’ Bilbo argued, and Thorin looked thoroughly surprised. Bilbo laughed. ‘I’m trusting you to be trustworthy, Thorin, and you’re trusting me to be the same thing. Or are you telling me an accusation of sexual harassment from an employee would go down well at any time, and particularly at the moment?’

‘Oh Mahal,’ Thorin murmured, mind obviously racing as he thought through the consequences of that and what it might do to his business, especially in the midst of the merger.

‘Quite,’ Bilbo said. ‘We _could_ both harm each other. Neither of us _will_ because we’re not arseholes. Back to the original subject. You naturally take charge when you have a plan; I knew that when I accepted a date with you. Probably as well as anyone you’ve ever dated, after watching you at work and with your family. It’s the way you were brought up to be. _You_ should know by now that I can only ever hold my temper for so long, despite my best efforts,’ Thorin snorted, likely thinking of the times Bilbo had lost said temper at work. ‘If I don’t like your suggestions, I’ll make my own.’

Thorin shook his head, but it seemed more wondering than anything. Bilbo couldn’t help his next question. The curiosity was nearly eating him alive.

‘Thorin, which idiot made you paranoid about all this?’

‘I’m not paranoid!’ Thorin objected indignantly, and Bilbo realised he could have phrased that much better. Oops. Then Thorin slumped a bit, and continued, ‘Dís set me up with a couple of her friends, years ago now. Not at the same time, obviously,’ now it was Bilbo’s turn to snort with laughter. Thorin kicked him gently under the table. ‘They both complained about it; that they never got to choose anything, that I always had everything planned out, that dating me was like being in the army. I’ve had to think about it really hard since then, every time I’ve dated. Most of the time it just didn’t seem worth it.’

Bilbo began to have a sneaking suspicion, having seen Dís and Thorin together.

‘How old were you?’ he asked gently, trying to seem idly curious.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Thorin said. ’25 or so? It was not long after all the faff with Thror. Dís wanted me to have a social life instead of just work and family all the time.’

‘So Dís’ friends would have been?’ Bilbo prompted.

’21?’ Thorin guessed. ‘Dís is about four years younger than me. She had the boys very young - she and Vili stuck like glue almost the moment they met – and I know Fíli, at least, was already around by that point because I kept wishing I’d just stayed home to babysit him instead.’

‘And these were Dís’ friends from school, were they?’ Bilbo queried. Thorin gave him a suspicious look.

‘Yes, Bilbo,’ he said slowly. ‘Now, why the interest in ancient history?’

‘Oh, if we want _ancient_ history then we need to go another two floors down,’ Bilbo said, trying very hard to appear innocent. Thorin didn’t look convinced. Bilbo huffed out another sigh. ‘Thorin, I’m just thinking…. You had a company to run and a family to care for. Your grandfather had been causing merry hell for several years, by the sounds of it. Then your sister set you up with a couple of young women who were probably, what, fresh out of uni? I can’t say much about them, I didn’t know them, but most kids their age don’t understand those sorts of responsibilities yet. I didn’t. Now, a few years later? It’s a completely different story. But that’s because life has thrown several things at me I really wasn’t expecting. It’s probably no great surprise that they didn’t understand you, and you just wanted to be at home babysitting Fíli instead of out with them.’

‘No,’ Thorin admitted, ‘probably not. Still, they were old enough to understand what they didn’t want, Bilbo.’

‘Yes, of course they were,’ Bilbo agreed. ‘I’m just saying… maybe don’t be quite so quick to live by their disapproval for the rest of your life, hmm? You’ve grown up a lot since then, I’ve no doubt. They will have too, for that matter. No doubt you’d get on a lot better if you met again now. Not that I’m suggesting you try! One dating attempt at a time, Thorin Durin.’

Thorin rested his elbow on the table, hand over his mouth, and his shoulders shook.

‘Stop it,’ Bilbo scolded. ‘It’s a very valid concern. You’re terribly attractive, someone might run off with you while I’m not looking.’

‘I’m also,’ Thorin said, managing to calm, ‘rather heavy, Bilbo. They’d have a hard time getting me anywhere without my permission. I think you’re safe.’

‘Oh. Good.’ Bilbo stated, wondering how he’d got here from where he’d started. It was a feeling he was becoming familiar with after weeks of dealing with Thorin and co. ‘So, Ancient Worship of Mahal?’

‘Absolutely,’ Thorin agreed, clearing the cups away so they could head off to explore.

***

Tuesday came, and Woodland again arrived the Prospect offices to discuss the financial aspects of the merger. It wasn’t even that Bilbo was surprised this was the sticking point in the negotiations. Everyone argued about the money, after all. It was the first rule of life.

_Where there’s a will, there’s a war_ , and all that.

He was only surprised because conversations between Balin and Thorin implied that, up to a point, everything had been going fairly smoothly. Yet, somehow, now both sides seemed to be tying themselves up in knots.

It didn’t make sense to Bilbo. Not at all.

He wondered how annoyed Thorin would be if he walked in, sat down and announced, ‘Right, you idiots, you’re all getting your knickers in a twist over nothing. This is what you need to do…’

Very, probably.

Pity. It would make life significantly easier.

Ah well, coffee first. Solving major problems later.

‘We should have brought Elros,’ someone laughed from the doorway of the kitchen, where Bilbo was fixing everyone’s drinks. ‘Never met a man who can make a pot of tea so quickly.’

‘I imagine it’s an important life skill for someone who can drink it equally quickly,’ Bilbo said, looking over his shoulder with a smile. ‘Shouldn’t you be in the meeting, Galion?’

‘Tauriel and Dori are fiddling with her computer, trying to get it connected. I said I’d come help you carry things instead of just sitting there,’ Galion moved past Bilbo to grab a tray and began piling it with all the condiments and cups. Bilbo was impressed that he didn’t have to think before he counted out the correct amount of everything, even though he’d been leaning against the desk chatting to Dori when Bilbo took the orders.

‘Oh dear,’ Bilbo muttered, as they walked through to the meeting room with their burdens. ‘I’d better get a memory stick as a back-up. I did ask Tauriel to send me her slides before the meeting, just in case.’

‘I wouldn’t worry,’ Galion reassured. ‘I’m sure they’ll get it sorted.’

Indeed, as they entered the meeting room, Bilbo could see that Dori was just linking the laptop up to screen and voila. Stuff was happening.

Dori took all the notes on these meetings, so Bilbo set the trays down and quickly showed himself to the door.

He and Elros had been given their own tasks to do this afternoon, in any case. He’d best get going.

***

A few days later, Bilbo was beginning to wonder if he was cracking up.

Please, Yavanna, let him be cracking up.

That was a far more pleasant alternative than the option currently presenting itself to him.

‘You were asked to produce the report for today, Bilbo,’ Thorin was saying through gritted teeth, hovering near Bilbo’s desk before deliberately taking a seat. ‘It was one of the agreed tasks from a prior meeting, and Elros emailed you about it earlier this week.’

‘I’m aware of that _now_ , Thorin, but I don’t have that email,’ Bilbo said as patiently as possible. ‘I’ve checked everywhere in my inbox. It’s nowhere to be found.’

‘And yet Elros has it clearly in his sent items,’ Thorin growled, irritation overtaking him. ‘Thranduil saw it himself. Much like that second file which has gone missing from your office, which Kíli clearly remembers placing in here but you now can’t find.’

Bilbo winced. Yes, he knew that was going to come back to haunt him. Kíli, bless his heart, had actually suggested they ‘just not mention it to Uncle,’ but Bilbo had flatly refused. He wouldn’t have other people in this company lying for him, especially not Thorin’s own family.

He didn’t know how these things kept _happening_.

‘Bilbo,’ and now Thorin’s voice was gentler and calmer again. Bilbo thought that might actually be worse, ‘I understand the job is a lot, and you’ve never done anything like this before. If we’re giving you too much to do…’

‘I would TELL you,’ Bilbo answered flatly, stung by the implication that he would lie when he’d been so very careful not to lie all along. ‘I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t _hide_ things, Thorin. You should know better than that.’

‘You’d hide some things,’ Thorin pointed out. He was still being gentle, but the implication caught Bilbo right under the ribs anyway. That was his only explanation for his brief inability to breathe.

‘Those things,’ Bilbo said choppily, not pretending for a second that he hadn’t caught Thorin’s meaning, ‘were about my _private_ life. They had no real bearing on my work. I do not lie about being able to do my job, Mr Durin.’

Thorin flinched, just as he had on Sunday in the museum. Good. So he should. He wasn’t the only one who could hit where it hurt.

‘Then how do you explain it, Bilbo?’ Thorin asked tiredly, almost desperately. ‘How do _I_ explain it to Thranduil? This will set the timeline back again, and now he thinks I’m stalling for some reason.’

‘I don’t know,’ Bilbo said softly. ‘I just… I don’t know.’

Thorin looked at him for long moments before rolling his head back, cracking his neck loudly and closing his eyes.

‘Nor do I,’ he replied, equally softly, ‘but I need to go and come up with something. I think we’ll have to postpone that date tonight, Bilbo.’

‘I think that’s a very good idea,’ Bilbo agreed, without looking at Thorin.

They didn’t bother to reschedule. Not right then.

******


	18. Hard Truths

Chapter Eighteen: Hard Truths

Back in his office, Thorin sank into his chair, set his elbows on the desk and rested his forehead in his hands. His head felt as if it weighed more than the ridiculous wooden monstrosity he was leaning on, and the headache throbbing over his eyes and at his temples was making it hard to focus on any of the dozen thoughts flying through his mind.

Even so, one in particular kept recurring.

Why could Bilbo not just admit that he was struggling?

All of this: files going missing, emails lacking attachments, absent emails and tasks incomplete… almost all the delays with the merger were centred on Bilbo. Thorin knew he’d behaved badly when Bilbo made his first big mistake at the company, all those weeks ago, but he’d tried to make amends afterwards. Prospect would never be working with that arsehole Proudfoot again.

Surely he hadn’t been so bad about the whole thing that Bilbo couldn’t just admit he was in over his head? That he was making mistakes because he was inexperienced and the job was fast-paced?

After all, once or twice was just unfortunate, but four or five times?

Thorin didn’t mind his staff making mistakes, but he did expect them to own up to it.

He still didn’t know what he was going to say to Thranduil. If Bilbo had reacted differently, they might have got away with the ‘new, inexperienced staff member’ explanation but… Thorin wouldn’t say that when Bilbo was so flatly denying it. It felt too much like dishonesty.

Mahal, sometimes he hated being the boss.

***

Bilbo avoided everyone else in the company for the rest of the day. When Fíli came to ask him to lunch he claimed to have work to do, and refused to be coaxed into a conversation or out of his office. He kept his head down, focused on his computer and interacted as little as possible.

As soon as 5pm came, he fled.

For the first time in a long while, he collected his ancient laptop as soon as he got back to his flat with the firm aim of finding at least two jobs to apply for.

He’d allowed himself to live in a nice dream for the last few weeks. A dream where being good at this temp job was enough to earn him some free time; where the extra money meant he didn’t have to graft as hard; and where (in the very back of his mind, tucked behind plenty of dusty boxes so he wouldn’t have to look at it properly) working at Prospect might somehow turn into a permanent job itself.

He’d been an idiot, and it was time it stopped.

Bilbo wasn’t even conscious that he’d made his way to Peredhel’s Dell until he was standing outside, which made him feel like a fool for many reasons. They only stayed open late a couple of nights a week, for a start. He might have found himself locked out.

Also, he hadn’t set foot in the place since his misunderstanding with the twins. What had made his subconscious think this was a good idea?

 _You know what_ , his mind supplied helpfully. _If the other lot throw you out, you’re going to need the twins. They were your only other friends._

Well, that was… harsh. But true.

It was just enough to shove Bilbo through the door and to a table.

He sat there for a minute or two before he realised he probably didn’t warrant table service in this place anymore. Then he left his laptop on the seat (who was going to steal it, really?) and headed to the counter.

They were both there, looking as beautifully put together as always and extremely professional. Elladan was on the till, and Elrohir at the coffee machine.

‘Bilbo,’ Elladan said quietly, as he approached. ‘It’s been a while. What can we get you?’ Behind him, Elrohir was already reaching for the bottled water and Bilbo was tempted to let him. After all, his financial situation might well become precarious again at any time. Still, he couldn’t quite help…

‘Hot chocolate, please.’

‘ _Really_ ,’ Elladan said, surprised. Elrohir aborted the movement and went back to the machine, moving automatically to set everything in motion. ‘Job’s going well, then?’

It wasn’t friendly, exactly, but it was slightly less than bland. Bilbo’s heart leapt.

‘It…,’ he stuttered slightly on the polite answer, then his worry took over and a whole blur of things came pouring out. ‘It was. It was going really well, and they were all so lovely and I thought I was making friends, maybe even… maybe even dating someone, but now it’s going wrong and I think I might get sacked and I need to look for jobs again.’

For just a second, Elladan’s professional mask cracked into concern and gentleness and Bilbo thought everything might be okay. Then Elrohir reached over to touch his brother’s arm, they shared a glance, and Elrohir moved forward to place Bilbo’s hot chocolate on the counter.

‘£2.75, please,’ he requested softly, and Bilbo thought his face must look bewildered because Elrohir shook his head wearily. ‘You’re welcome to use the wi-fi, like all our customers, Bilbo,’ he added. ‘For the rest, you need to think a little harder about why you’ve only come to see us now.’ Then he pulled Elladan further back into the shop.

Bilbo stood there just long enough to realise that they were having a low-voiced argument before his body finally snapped to. He collected his drink, headed for the table and opened his laptop as gently as he could.

Life had been a lot simpler before he started worrying about people.

***

For the next few days, life wasn’t _bad_ necessarily, just unsettling. Fíli and Kíli had, thankfully, taken a couple of days of holiday to go to a festival somewhere, so he didn’t have to try and dodge them at all. The others were all busy covering for them when required as well as doing their own work, so Bilbo could keep to purely work-related conversations – no lunches, or drinks, or anything like that.

It wouldn’t last forever, of course, not when Bofur was already eyeing him in that way which meant, ‘I know something’s wrong and I’m only letting it go for now.’ Bilbo would take it, however. A few days’ peace was what he needed, especially when he and Thorin had fallen so expertly back into their purely professional roles that Bilbo was beginning to wonder if he’d imagined them dating.

He brought his laptop to work and applied for jobs in his lunchbreak, rather than risk the café again. The feeling of being constantly on eggshells in the office reminded him what a good idea it was, and he still hadn’t really worked out what Elrohir meant so he didn’t want to go back.

Besides, he was tired in the evenings and he knew better than to submit a shoddy application for a job.

He realised quite what a sensible move this was when Dori came flying into the office late one afternoon (not something he’d _ever_ expected to see Dori do) and announced, ‘Thorin, clock off early. Dís just phoned. She wants us all home. She’s got the letter.’

‘Dís what?’ Thorin said in confusion, and Bilbo could tell even from the other room that he was buried in a manuscript and only half-hearing what was said to him. You had to make sure you had his attention before you said the important part of the sentence. Dori should know that.

‘Dís has the _letter_ , Thorin,’ Dori repeated, more excited than Bilbo had ever heard him. ‘From the hospital. The results letter. She wants us all home.’

‘Oh,’ Thorin responded. ‘ _OH!_ Hang on. Are the boys…?’

‘On their way now,’ Dori confirmed. ‘They were already most of the way home when she called.’

They were so happy, obviously expecting good news, that Bilbo could almost ignore the way his stomach sank.

Dís’ letter would, presumably, give her the all-clear from her illness. It would declare her fit to come back to work.

Bilbo’s job was about to disappear.

Yavanna, he hoped one of these applications came through… but what were the chances, when none of the others had?

***

Dori knew he shouldn’t be letting himself get so excited. There was still a chance that the hospital wouldn’t give Dís the all-clear, and that all of this wouldn’t be over.

He couldn’t quite help it, even so. Every sign up to now had been so good, and she’d done so well with all the treatments. Dori couldn’t believe it would be bad news at this point.

Don’t let it be bad news now.

He, Balin and Thorin all pulled up to the house separately, and it briefly occurred to Dori that the neighbours were going to hate them for this; with the boys parked on the drive, they were blocking half the road. Then he shook off the pointless thought and headed inside, unsurprised to hear Dís, Kíli and Fíli all close to full volume. The boys seemed to be regaling her with tales of their weekend away, probably to avoid thinking about what they might find out in a minute.

It might have been better if Dís had just opened the envelope and told them all what it said, but she’d be the first to admit that Durins liked a bit of drama in their big moments.

Also, if it _was_ bad news… well, better they were all together to hear it.

As Thorin, Balin and Dori all filed in, Dwalin – who’d been sitting on the sofa, probably trying to avoid the mayhem a little – suddenly stood up and clapped his hands.

‘Right, come on then, lass,’ he told Dís firmly, pointing at the envelope she held. ‘Stop dragging it out and get that open.’

Dís rolled her eyes at him but obliged anyway.

She read it carefully for just a few seconds, smiled brilliantly and announced, ‘Clear.’

Then she whooped and, still clutching the results letter in her hand, leapt into Dwalin’s arms, throwing her own around his neck. He locked his hands together under her rear end, using them support her weight as her legs came around his waist, and happily returned the kiss that she planted on him.

They only stopped kissing when Fíli coughed pointedly and Kíli moaned, ‘My eyes, Mum, my _eyes_!’

‘You’re a big boy,’ she told him as she set her feet back on the floor. ‘You’ll get over it.’

Dori noticed that, while Fíli and Kíli were playing up their disgust, neither of them looked particularly surprised at this turn of events.

Nor, in fact, did Dwalin. He still had one arm around Dís even as she turned to face the boys, and his grin was one of contentment rather than startled happiness.

No, the ones who looked truly surprised were Thorin and Balin.

Especially Balin.

Balin looked like he’d been kicked in the stomach by a horse.

Oh no.

Dori began to edge towards him, but he’d only made it a few steps when Dwalin turned his happy smile on his brother and Balin spoke.

‘You’re together then?’ he asked quietly.

‘Yes,’ Dwalin confirmed easily.

‘How long?’ Balin’s continued quietness seemed to trip an alarm for Dís, at least, for she put one hand over Dwalin’s on her stomach and answered the question herself.

‘Since a week or two after Dwalin came home.’

‘I see,’ Balin said calmly, face almost blank. ‘Almost six months then.’ Very quietly, he added, ‘While I’ve still been trying to convince the two of you to make a go of it.’ He paused for just a moment, and Dori wondered if anyone else saw pain flash through his eyes. It was so quick that it might have been Dori’s imagination.

Then he decided it probably wasn’t.

‘Congratulations to you both, of course,’ Balin continued, rising from his seat. ‘And particularly to you, Dís, on the results. I’m so glad they came back clear. I’ll see the rest of you at work.’ Then he walked carefully out of the room, and the house, shutting the front door gently behind him.

There was utter silence, until Dwalin broke it with, ‘Is he _angry_ with us?’

Dori couldn’t help himself. He began to laugh.

He imagined the sound was rather bitter. Probably quite inappropriate for what was supposed to be a happy occasion. No doubt there’d be a number of people who felt both he _and_ Balin were behaving badly.

He couldn’t find it in himself, right this second, to care or to let things go.

‘Oh no, Dwalin, I can’t imagine he’s angry with you at all. After all, you’ve only lied to him for six months, often right to his face for… what? Your own amusement? You’ve let him worry himself sick over you, _both_ of you, when you might have just told him you were together. You’ve let him make a right fool of himself, haven’t you? When all he’s done for 20 years is try and help both of you be happy. How did you think he’d feel?’

‘It was meant to be a joke,’ Dís said softly. ‘That’s all. We always joke. He pushed so hard, we just thought we’d surprise him one day…’

‘Well Balin doesn’t seem to be laughing,’ Dori said simply. ‘Maybe, next time, think if the joke’s going to look funny from the other side.’

‘Thorin?’ Dís said, a little pleading, presumably turning to the other person in the room who hadn’t known all along. Thorin shrugged at her.

‘I’m not as pissed off as he seems to be,’ Thorin told her shortly, ‘but then I decided a good while ago that if the two of you were determined to ignore the obvious I’d just let you. Dori’s right, you let him make a fool of himself. It wasn’t bloody _fair_ , Dís. I’m not surprised he’s angry with you.’

‘Oh fucking Mahal,’ Dwalin muttered roughly, scrubbing his free hand over his face. ‘He never did like looking stupid, did he? I forget, because it just doesn’t happen. Dori…’

‘I’m going because your brother is a good friend and he’s upset,’ Dori told them. ‘Personally, I think you’re a pair of thoughtless idiots. Don’t imagine I’m convincing him to forgive you if he doesn’t want to. I’m just going to check on him.’

‘Just make sure he’s alright,’ Dís asked worriedly. ‘Please. If you’ll tell him anything, say he can call whenever he wants.’

She looked so upset, and Dwalin so angry with himself, that Dori did forgive them a little. He realised they hadn’t meant anything by it, and it was such a sodding shame this had happened on what should have been a really happy day.

He just didn’t like it when people forgot that Balin was a person as well.

The poor man wasn’t only there to solve everyone else’s problems and provide moral support when things went wrong.

You didn’t work for someone for 15 years without realising that they got hurt too.

***

That evening, sat miserably at home, Bilbo did something he hadn’t done for a while.

He called his dad on a weekday, just because.

‘Bilbo,’ Dad said, picking up almost immediately, sounding calm and steady and good, ‘how are you?’

‘I’m fine,’ Bilbo told him, trying to project fine into his voice as well as he could. ‘It’s been a long week. How are you?’

‘I’m very well, thank you,’ Dad replied, almost teasingly. ‘I did a few more hours at work this week, without any problem. Some of the team invited me out after work one night, which was very kind of them, and it was good fun. I haven’t been to a pub quiz for years. Now, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’

‘I… what makes you think something’s wrong? I told you, I’m fine.’

‘Yes, dear, and I’m a horse’s arse,’ his staid, upright father replied, nearly making Bilbo choke. ‘You’ve called me off-schedule, sounding like you’re forcing cheer between your teeth. Why don’t we make this easier on both of us, and you just tell me what you really want to tell me anyway, hmm?’

‘This was easier when you were less observant,’ Bilbo muttered, and then actually clapped his hand over his mouth in horror. ‘I didn’t mean that,’ he said a few seconds later. ‘I didn’t.’

Dad gave a cross between a sigh and a laugh. ‘Of course you did,’ he scolded. ‘Most people prefer it when their lies succeed, Bilbo. That’s why we tell them. I’d still rather you told me what’s wrong, though.’

And Bilbo realised he was being stupid. Why had he phoned Dad, if not for this? He’d wanted someone to talk to, hadn’t he, now everyone else he knew was seemingly off limits?

‘I’ve messed something up, Dad,’ he admitted quietly. ‘I know I have, but I don’t know how.’ His voice sounded childish, and he hated it, but he couldn’t seem to stop it either.

‘Then why don’t you tell me what it was, and we’ll see if I can’t work it out instead?’ Dad prompted, and it was just like living at home again, when he’d had a fight with a friend, or didn’t understand his homework, and he and Dad had talked it out together.

Bilbo explained what had happened with the twins, right from the beginning, and then waited as silence settled on the line for a long moment.

‘That was badly done of you, Bilbo,’ Dad said, when he spoke again, and Bilbo felt about two inches tall.

‘I went back,’ Bilbo objected automatically. ‘I knew I’d made a mistake, so I went back.’

‘Some weeks later,’ Dad pointed out equally quickly. ‘When your alternatives didn’t seem so comfortable anymore. And instead of apologising for hurting their feelings the last time you were there, or telling them you’d missed them, you essentially told them you’d come by because you didn’t have any better options anymore! Are you surprised one of them was upset? If they’re the sort of people you say they are, I bet they’ve had to develop a fairly good sense for when they’re being used.’

Bilbo thought he gasped, horrified at the thought and the word. ‘I wasn’t… I wasn’t trying to use them. That’s the opposite of what I was trying to…’

‘I know, sweetheart,’ Dad said, voice softening now he’d made his point, ‘but you should have gone back weeks ago, you can see that, can’t you? Not just when things were going badly for you. If they’re really your friends, you see them all the time, not just when the shininess wears off the new thing in your life. You know this, Bilbo, your Mum taught you all of it when you were about ten.’

And Bilbo felt like a right idiot now, because she had. She’d taught him all of this during primary school playground fights and, ‘I’m not playing with you anymore,’ and arguments over who was best friends with who, and who could be in the gang and who couldn’t.

He was such an idiot.

‘I need to go and apologise to them tomorrow,’ he said aloud. ‘That’s what Elrohir was telling me. To come back when I’d worked it out.’

‘I think so,’ Dad agreed. ‘They like you, Bilbo. I don’t imagine they hand out nicknames to all their customers. I’m sure it will be fine.’

Bilbo hoped so. At least then one thing would be.

******


	19. Released

Chapter Nineteen: Released

The next day was painfully awkward at Prospect, though Bilbo had no idea why. His own troubles he knew well enough, of course, but those were hardly likely to be responsible for the tense atmosphere that had spread through the office.

All Bilbo knew was that the boys looked remarkably like kicked puppies, considering their mum was (he presumed) healthy once more, and kept hovering outside Balin’s office without going in.

That Balin was breathing cool, professional politeness instead of his usual warmth whenever he appeared.

That Thorin and Balin had had a low-voiced disagreement which had included Thorin objecting, ‘I didn’t know anymore than you did!’, but didn’t appear to have solved anything.

And that everyone seemed so distracted, he was being left in blissful peace to get on with his work with no further disasters.

He also hadn’t received a call from Gandalf to say his services were being dispensed with yet, but he supposed Dís might not bounce straight back to work just because the test results said she was healthy. She’d need to _feel_ healthy as well, and presumably that was going to take at least a little longer.

A mixed blessing for Bilbo, who desperately needed more time to find a job but would have to put up with working at Prospect in the meantime.

He dropped Gandalf a quick email advising him that he expected the contract to be up soon, and could Gandalf please be on the lookout for other opportunities for him?

 _Of course_ , came Gandalf’s remarkably swift reply. _With the recommendation you’ll get from Prospect, we should be able to slot you in to practically anything that comes up_.

Shit.

It got better and better.

Bilbo went back to work, and girded himself for later.

***

‘Elrohir,’ Elladan hissed, not long after the post-work rush was over. Elrohir immediately snapped to attention. Elladan calling his name was hardly a new experience – they’d never get a damn thing done at work or at home if they didn’t speak to one another – but Elrohir didn’t hear it said like that terribly often.

That could either mean something terrible, or something wonderful.

He turned to look at his brother, who was pointing surreptitiously at the door, and when he followed the obvious instruction…

Oh, well. Terrible or wonderful. It could still be either.

Their little wounded Butterfly, still struggling to fly, was back.

Elladan was looking at him expectantly, Elrohir could feel it. Elladan hadn’t fully forgiven him for sending Bilbo away a few days ago instead of forgiving all immediately, and now he wanted Elrohir to undo that mistake.

Twins they might be, but they weren’t identical in everything. Elrohir always thought that his elder brother had, by some chance, been given the bigger heart. One that would embrace everyone and everything; that gave and gave and gave and kept nothing for itself.

Which meant it was for Elrohir to be their occasional protection. To pull them back when they were the ones who were going to get hurt.

Elladan would forgive anything. And so would Elrohir, but he at least wanted an acknowledgement that there was something requiring forgiveness, and that the person would try not to hurt them again, before he did it.

Otherwise what defence did they have against being hurt constantly by the uncaring and the unknowing?

Their Butterfly – Bilbo – would have been the latter, but it would have hurt no less for that.

Now, Elrohir supposed, they would see if that was going to change.

Bilbo approached the counter cautiously, laptop still slung over his shoulder though Elrohir could see that the weight was making it ache. The thing was almost twice the size of any other laptop Elrohir saw in their shop these days and, back before, he’d had to bite his tongue half a dozen times to stop himself offering Bilbo the old one they never used so he could get rid of the thing.

Reaching them, Bilbo hovered nervously at the till, looking up at Elladan hopefully just as he had a few days before. It was deadly; Elrohir could see Elladan melting before his eyes.

‘Can we help, Bilbo?’ he spoke up, moving away from the coffee machine to join his brother.

‘Um, could I have a bottle of water, please?’ Bilbo asked, which made Elrohir wince internally. Back to that again. Bilbo _had_ said the job wasn’t going so well now. ‘And, um, could I have a word?’

Elrohir could feel Elladan straighten, and knew he’d instinctively done the same. That was… promising.

‘Give us one moment,’ he said, keeping his voice even. He reached behind him to get the water, whilst Elladan took Bilbo’s payment, checked the shop to be sure everyone looked content where they were, and then motioned for Bilbo to follow them to a table out of the way.

Corner tables always went quickly, but very few people wanted to sit right next to the front door, which made it perfect for a personal conversation, if a little draughty. Elrohir reached out to make sure the door was firmly shut before he sat.

Then he waited.

‘You told me to think harder about why I’d only come to see you now… then,’ Bilbo began, fiddling with the top on his bottle before gulping from it and setting it back on the table. He looked up at them, young and nervous, and Elrohir was forcefully reminded that Elladan wasn’t the only one who wanted to forgive people. Just the one it was easier for.

‘You were right, I was doing it for the wrong reasons. I’d put off coming back for the wrong reasons. I’m sorry,’ Bilbo got out all in one go. ‘I was too embarrassed to come back before. I’d made a fool out of myself and I didn’t want to admit it. Then I got busy with the new job and new people and it was easier to pretend nothing had happened. I was an arsehole. I didn’t mean to behave like you were only important when I didn’t have anyone else. You were wonderful to me and I should have appreciated it at the time, and afterwards too. I’m sorry,’ he repeated.

And Elrohir could breathe.

‘As are we, little Butterfly,’ he said gently, ‘that things were going so well and now you feel they aren’t again. We’ve only ever wanted life to be easier for you. Can we help?’

Bilbo looked up at them, seeming a little lost, and a tear trickled down his face. They’d never seen Bilbo cry before, not even on that day when he was clearly freezing and his shithole flat wasn’t fit for human habitation.

Elladan was around the table and enclosing Bilbo in a hug before Elrohir had finished the thought.

‘Shh, Bilbo, it’s alright,’ he murmured. ‘You’re not alone. What can we do?’

‘I don’t know,’ Bilbo said, voice slightly broken. ‘ _I_ don’t know what to do.’

Just then, a customer had the temerity to enter the shop. It was the closest Elrohir had ever come to glaring someone out of the Dell just for existing.

‘For now,’ he said quickly, ‘you’re going to stay here and we’re going to get you a proper drink. Then, later, you can come upstairs with us and tell us exactly what’s going on so we can work out what you need to do next. Okay?’

Bilbo nodded, looking calmer with a plan in place, and Elrohir hurried away to deal with the innocent customer.

Wonderful, not terrible.

Thank you, Eru.

***

It was a long night, that night. Bilbo hadn’t realised quite how much had happened to him in the last few months (years, even) until he was explaining all of it to a pair of sympathetic faces who were willing to hug him through the worst spots. When he’d finished, however, a couple of things had suddenly become clear:

  * He absolutely needed another job, as soon as possible; and
  * His relationship with Thorin might have ended with a whimper, but it had ended.



The revelations were surprisingly calm, probably because he’d already understood them, just not dragged them into the light of day yet.

‘Nothing but time’s going to help with your heart, I suspect,’ Elladan told him kindly, ‘but we can probably help on the job front.’ When Bilbo looked at him questioningly, he added. ‘Have you ever heard of Imladris Recruitment?’

Which was how Bilbo ended up with an out-of-hours appointment with the top recruitment consultant in the city (sorry, Gandalf).

He slept a little better, even if the alarm went off far too early.

***

Thorin didn’t think he’d slept at all. Every muscle in his body felt locked, especially the ones in his neck, and he was struggling to move his head from side-to-side at this point. His head ached abominably, so he downed more ibuprofen before he left for the office and prayed that would deal with at least one of the two problems.

They were in the final few days of the merger now, and everything had to go perfectly, which would be a hell of a lot easier if he could bloody sleep. Coffee would only get him so far, no matter how well Bilbo brewed it.

Bilbo was doing everything well since they’d cancelled their date. It made Thorin wonder if their relationship had been the problem with Bilbo’s work, which didn’t improve his mood or his ability to concentrate at all.

Balin was also behaving impeccably, as long as Thorin wanted a robot instead of a person as his Managing Director. He came in, did all of his work to the very highest standard… and then disappeared, without saying a word to any of them that wasn’t work-related.

Thorin understood exactly why Balin was pissed with Dís and Dwalin, but right now he wanted to strangle the lot of them. He couldn’t even bring Dís back to help with the last bits of the merger because they’d just add to his stress.

(Not that he would anyway, he admitted to himself. It would insult and upset Bilbo.)

Dís clearly wanted Thorin to fix the problem, and he’d tried, but he’d failed miserably and he didn’t have the time or the energy to keep trying right now.

He hadn’t even told her that he’d split up with Bilbo yet. She was so upset about the whole thing with Balin that there hadn’t been a chance to.

Thorin pushed on the back of his neck, hoping to release some of the tension, and winced as pain shot through the muscles. Alright, that was clearly a bad idea. Maybe he’d try a heat pack when he got home tonight.

Fíli slipped into his office quietly, clearly conscious of how on edge Thorin was, and Thorin tried to smile at him as he slouched against the meeting table across from Thorin’s desk. Fíli just shook his head.

‘You look awful,’ Fíli sighed, suddenly seeming weary himself.

‘Yes, well, it will all be over soon,’ Thorin answered, as lightly as he could. ‘Only three days now until we sign.’

‘The merger’s not the damn problem and we all know it,’ Fíli said angrily, and Thorin’s eyebrows went up. He regretted that too, wincing, and for a moment Fíli looked even angrier. Then he just looked determined. ‘Right,’ he announced, suddenly rising to his feet, ‘don’t you worry about any of the family stuff anymore. It is _officially_ not your problem now. I’m taking care of it. All you need to do is get this merger completed and then sort something out with Bilbo. Our family is meant to be a group of fucking adults, we shouldn’t need intermediaries when we argue, but if we do then they’re going to have to put up with me.’

‘Brave words, little one,’ Thorin said wryly, though a little of the weight already seemed to have evaporated from his shoulders. ‘Are you sure you’re ready to beard Balin in his den?’

‘Who said I’m starting with Balin?’ Fíli challenged. ‘Start with the weak link, remember. I’ll go for Dwalin first.’ He grabbed his phone and shot off a couple of text messages. ‘Now, you called me in to talk press releases and things.’

‘So I did,’ Thorin confirmed. ‘Obviously we’re on a media blackout for the next few days,’ he laughed at how dramatic that sounded. It wasn’t as if they were some huge company with journalists hanging around eagerly to hear what they were doing. Fíli laughed with him. ‘Just gently remind the others, would you? I’d hate to stumble at the last hurdle. Then we’ll release a proper statement once we’ve signed which Thranduil has agreed you should draft, and Legolas and his team will review and approve. Can you get that done for me by tomorrow?’

‘Yes, no problem. I’ve been kicking some ideas around in my head for a while,’ Fíli confirmed. He outlined a few, which Thorin carefully nodded at, then gathered up his things to leave. Just as he’d finished, a knock sounded on the door.

‘Come in,’ Thorin called, hoping against hope it wasn’t Bilbo.

It was Kíli, sticking his head through for a second to check the room before the rest of him followed. He covered the distance between the door and Thorin in about four strides, produced something from a bag he was holding, slipped behind Thorin and pressed it to the back of his neck.

Heat.

Oh bliss.

Then Kíli’s arms slipped around Thorin’s waist and his chin slid, very carefully, over Thorin’s shoulder. He squeezed once, murmured, ‘Sit quietly for a few minutes, yeah?’, let go and departed with brother.

Thorin wasn’t sure he could have moved if he’d tried.

***

It was a bloody difficult situation to be in, really, Bofur thought, trying to get over your crush on someone when they appeared to be going through a painful breakup.

He _wanted_ to go over and wrap a miserable-looking Bilbo up in a hug about thirty times a day, to ask him what was wrong, and do just about anything to make him laugh.

He wanted to be there for him and encourage him to bitch about Thorin (Bofur was fairly sure there was bitching to be done).

But nothing he wanted felt right with this crush hanging over them. All of it felt like… cheating, somehow. Like taking advantage, trying to get something that wasn’t his.

He wasn’t ignoring Bilbo, obviously. He was still bringing him cups of tea and trying to amuse him with the occasional insight about their colleagues (Ori was most definitely Disney animation, like Cinderella or Snow White, with some Tangled thrown in for good measure; Dori was one of those uplifting films about someone fighting back against the odds and winning).

Pushing too hard, though? Trying to convince Bilbo to feel comfortable enough with him to give him real answers? It didn’t feel right.

Bollocks to falling for people. Bofur didn’t like it; it made being a friend too difficult.

***

‘Bilbo?’ Kíli tried, approaching carefully. Bilbo had been in a foul mood ever since they got back from their festival trip (since before they went away, really, but he’d been worse since they got back), even if he was hiding it well.

‘Sorry, Kíli, I’m busy at the moment,’ Bilbo responded immediately.

He’d been busy for days. Every time they tried to speak to him. It was obvious that he and Uncle were no longer together, though neither would really say what had happened, and that Bilbo was determined to pretend their relationship had never existed at all.

It was painful to watch, but Bilbo had the air of a bomb that might explode at any moment these days. Kíli and Fíli were both wary of setting him off when everything else was so tense.

‘Too busy for lunch?’ Kíli tried anyway, hopefully. If they could just get him out of the office…

‘I have things to do at lunchtime,’ Bilbo informed him. He looked up and smiled, but it was perfunctory and didn’t reach his eyes. Kíli felt his heart deflate. Bilbo really wanted nothing to do with them. Apparently whatever Uncle had done – or whatever the two of them had done to each other – had tarred his nephews with the same brush.

It wouldn’t be the first time. Mum had tried dating occasionally, when they were little. After the first couple of attempts, Fíli and Kíli had (rather brattily, he could admit now) informed the men she was dating that they had a dad who was away in the army, and Uncle Thorin and Uncle Balin, and they didn’t need to bother with anyone else.

It had felt safer that way. Once people were done with one member of the Durin family, they tended to be done with all of it. Kíli should be used to that by now.

‘Alright,’ Kíli almost-whispered, though Bilbo had already turned his attention away. He went back to his desk, put his headphones in, and began to listen to Avenue Q to cheer himself up.

If he sang _There’s a Fine, Fine Line_ with a little more feeling than normal… who was going to care?

***

When Fíli’s phone started ringing rather fervently at 9.15am the next morning, no one really thought much of it. Mostly because they were all in a meeting in the main open office area, which was the easiest place to fit them all, discussing what everyone needed to do in the next few days to close the merger whilst keeping business running.

The doors to all their offices were open, so they heard the phone ringing, but Fíli and Thorin exchanged a glance and decided to let it go to answerphone.

Then Kíli’s began to ring immediately afterwards.

Fíli’s started again.

Thorin’s began going, and Bilbo’s too.

Balin’s could just about be heard from his office.

Dori’s, then Balin’s again, then Thorin’s over and over and over, as if someone was hitting redial each time they reached the answerphone.

Then suddenly even the phones in the main office began to ring.

They all stared at each other for a long moment before, without a word, scattering to their desks at a run.

‘Good morning, Prospect Publishi…,’ Thorin began, only to be cut off immediately.

‘Thorin what is the meaning of this,’ Thranduil’s voice demanded from the other ended of the line.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Thorin asked, probably sounding as baffled as he felt. Surely Thranduil hadn’t found a term he disliked at _this_ stage in the process.

‘The press release, Thorin!’ Thranduil cracked frostily down the phone. ‘Released prematurely, full of criticism for the merger, from your office.’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ Thorin objected. ‘We’ve done no such thing. Why would we release anything at this stage?’

As he said it, Fíli appeared in his door, looking white as a sheet. A piece of paper was clutched in his hand, and he held it out to Thorin.

‘Thranduil, give me one moment, please, I’ve been brought whatever you’re talking about,’ Thorin said gruffly. And, to give Thranduil his due, he did fall silent, though his rage still seemed to hiss and sputter down the phone line.

It was an article from one of the major publishing news websites, all about their merger. Reading it, Thorin could fully understand Thranduil’s fury.

_ME Publishing can now announce that Prospect Publishing and Woodland Online plan to merge their houses in the coming days. Prospect’s hard copy titles and Woodland’s purely online titles would presumably both benefit from such a merger, which would allow the houses to share their resources and offer a mix of publishing options to their authors._

_However, a source close to both houses said: ‘I have grave concerns over this merger. There has been very little consultation with staff, only an edict from above that it should proceed. The financial benefits all seem to be on one side of the equation, and it seems likely that it will lead to redundancies as the senior team try to realise the benefits by creating efficiencies elsewhere in the publishing process – such as expecting one person to handle the work currently undertaken by two.’_

_It remains to be seen whether the merger will go ahead in spite of these concerns. Both Thorin Oakenshield and Thranduil Oropherson are being contacted for comment._

‘Fucking Mahal,’ Thorin swore, professionalism slipping entirely in the heat of the moment.

‘Yes,’ Thranduil snapped out. ‘Exactly! We both know someone in your team has been trying to delay this merger, Thorin. Clearly their patience ran out.’

‘Hold on a moment,’ Thorin objected, sitting up and glaring despite Thranduil’s absence. ‘We’ve no proof that this came from my team.’

‘Every delay, every problem, has been at your end,’ Thranduil stated implacably, entirely certain he was right, ‘and all since you took on that new temp. Are you telling me that this, now, is a coincidence?’

‘I’m telling you that’s not _evidence_ ,’ Thorin argued, rising to his feet, one hand clamping on the desk. ‘Thranduil, we can’t go around accusing people like that!’

Thranduil snorted.

‘Oh, by all means, find your evidence,’ he jibed smartly, and Thorin would have thrown the phone at the wall except that one small part of him (tiny, almost starving of oxygen deprivation) could understand the sheer frustration of all their plans nearly come to naught, ‘but if he isn’t gone by the end of the day, Thorin, you can count the deal off. I won’t merge with you if Maeglin is practically sitting in your office, waiting to stab us all in the back.’

Then the phone went down sharply.

Thorin replaced his own phone in the cradle as gently as possible, and looked at Fíli, who was still standing frozen just inside the door.

‘You’ve already told them not to answer the phones?’ he asked. Fíli nodded fervently.

‘Good,’ Thorin breathed. ‘I’ll get Balin in. Then…’ he stumbled over the words. ‘Then, once we’ve talked, we’ll speak to Bilbo.’

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Thranduil speaks of Maeglin, he refers to a great traitor of the First Age (for those of you who, like me, are not instantly familiar with all of Tolkien's work and have to look this stuff up!)


	20. Responsible

Chapter Twenty: Responsible

‘Mr Baggins, what is Mr Durin’s comment on the announcement in _ME Publishing_ this morning?’ a smug-sounding voice asked down the phone, almost as soon as Bilbo finished his greeting. ‘Will the merger with Woodland Online still be going ahead?’

Bilbo’s entire brain stuttered for a long moment, then his hand tightened on the handset until it creaked.

‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t possibly comment at this stage,’ Bilbo managed to say calmly. ‘Have a lovely day.’ Then he put the phone down before the journalist could ask him anything else. He sincerely hoped that had been the correct response. Fíli’s ‘what to say to journalists’ session hadn’t been scheduled until later that day.

Oh Yavanna.

How did they know?

The session hadn’t been scheduled until later that day because _no one was supposed to know yet_.

How did they know?

 _ME Publishing_ , Bilbo thought as the initial ridiculous panic cleared. That’s what the journalist had said. Bilbo pulled up a search engine and quickly typed in _ME Publishing_ and _Prospect Publishing_ (sparing a moment to consider the sheer unoriginality of naming in the publishing world), and pop!

There it was, right at the top.

Bilbo clicked, began to read, and felt his stomach turn.

Yavanna, no wonder all the phones were ringing.

If it had just been a merger announcement, probably no one would truly have cared except their clientele and immediate competitors. This…

Oh, this was juicy gossip. This was a red rag before a bull in journalistic terms.

Dissent in the ranks. A hint of scandal. Redundancies. Evil management screwing over their workers for profit.

Shit, shit, shit.

Bilbo’s phone began to ring again, and he sent it straight to answerphone just as Fíli entered his office clutching a piece of paper in one hand. He looked at Bilbo nervously, appearing almost in shock, and said, ‘I’m telling everyone not to answer their phones.’

‘Decision already made,’ Bilbo informed him. ‘Until I have an official statement to give, I don’t want to speak to anyone about _that_.’ He gestured at the computer, and then at Fíli’s piece of paper. Fíli nodded, swallowing.

‘Not the press release I was expecting to finalise today,’ was all he said, before he slipped into Thorin’s office. Bilbo sighed. Poor Fíli. Poor all of them, in fact. As annoyed as he’d been with Thorin and the others, he wouldn’t wish this sort of disaster on anyone.

He wondered if he should call Dís and ask her to come in. Thorin would need all the experienced backup he could get in the next few hours.

Before he’d made a decision, Bilbo’s eyes were drawn back to the ‘announcement’. Now that the initial surprise had worn off, something about it was making him almost as edgy as Fíli had looked.

What was it?

He read it through, and then again, as Balin rushed past and entered Thorin’s office to join Fíli.

He smelled a rat, he suddenly realised. He should have immediately, would have, if he wasn’t so naïve. After all, a quote like that didn’t just appear from nowhere. In fact, an announcement like this didn’t come from nowhere. Someone had _handed_ this to the website sword-hilt first, so that they could stab Prospect and Woodland just where it hurt, at exactly the right time.

Fíli must have made that logic jump immediately; that was why he’d looked so damned nervous. He knew what Bilbo was just understanding.

This was an inside job.

And, scanning the wording for the fourth time, Bilbo thought he knew who it was.

On the one hand, he was so blazingly angry he could have thrown the nearest heavy-duty hole punch at their heads without a second thought.

On the other, he was actually quite relieved. He’d begun to think…

Alright, he’d begun – just in the back of his mind - to think that someone else at Woodland was setting him up to look like a complete idiot, for reasons he really didn’t understand, and that would have hurt like being kicked in the chest by a horse.

This was somehow better.

It wasn’t about Bilbo, that much was now clear. It was about preventing the merger from happening and… fuck, it was about getting themselves a scapegoat too. Oh, oh Yavanna, maybe that wasn’t better after all.

Bilbo began to hyperventilate and had to grip the arms of his chair and take several deep breaths until he was back under control again.

Okay, being a scapegoat wasn’t good, but at least he wasn’t being set up by someone he’d begun to consider a friend.

He didn’t think.

Besides, he worked in a company full of literary people. When he pointed out the identical writing styles, it shouldn’t be hard to get them to look closer at the real saboteur and backstabber.

It would all be fine.

Wouldn’t it?

***

‘You’re sure, Thorin?’ Balin asked carefully, that utterly frustrating layer of polite indifference completely vanished in the face of their crisis.

‘Do we have a choice?’ Thorin replied, full of resignation, and knew he was right when Balin didn’t argue, just cursed lowly under his breath. ‘You can both go,’ Thorin told Fíli and Balin, bracing himself as he rose to his feet and walked to his office door. ‘I don’t want this to feel like a firing squad.’

They both looked ready to argue, then each changed their minds and filed out of his office to go back to their own. Fíli had a new press release to draft. Balin needed to contact Thranduil and discuss next steps.

Thorin had to…

Thorin had to do Thranduil’s Mahal-damned dirty work, curse him to an eternity being flattened by stampeding mûmakil.

‘Bilbo, can you join me, please?’

Bilbo looked up, already seeming slightly queasy, and Thorin felt his own stomach drop as if he’d just driven over a bump in the road far too quickly. When Bilbo entered his office, Thorin gestured to the seat in front of his desk, then walked around to sit on the other side.

He’d never normally sit like this with Bilbo, but he felt as if he’d need the protection if Bilbo’s temper was unleashed at him.

Bilbo stiffened instantly, dawning realisation settling on his face. He looked up, met Thorin’s eyes, and began to open his mouth.

For one instant, Thorin could see that blaze of temper he’d feared to set off and braced himself for the barbs that might come flying straight for his jugular.

Then it was gone.

‘Shall I make this easier and just resign?’ Bilbo said tiredly, leaning sideways in the chair so that the arm was supporting most of his weight, looking over Thorin’s left shoulder instead of meeting his eyes.

‘Bilbo,’ Thorin began, but Bilbo cut him off despite his weary air.

‘Thorin, I don’t want to sit here and listen to all the reasons why I’m being blamed for this latest catastrophe you and Thranduil have managed to cause between you,’ Bilbo bit out (and, ouch, there was the sting Thorin had been expecting). ‘I know how this goes. The outsider gets the blame, “you’re the one who was being careless with files, Bilbo,” etc, etc. I don’t have the energy for it anymore. I resign. Goodbye, Thorin.’

Then he got up and, before Thorin could even muster a response, walked out.

Thorin didn’t think he’d ever been so wrong-footed in his life.

***

Thankfully, there was nothing on Bilbo’s desk that actually belonged to him. He brought everything personal with him in his bag every day and took it home each night. It was a habit he’d learned at previous temp jobs and had yet to break.

He swiped a couple of things he’d taken out that morning without stopping, dropped them back into his bag, and continued out without even bothering to switch his computer off. Someone else could have the honour.

Then, just as he was about to leave with nary a backwards look, pride caught up with him one last time.

He might be – he _was_ – too tired to argue with Thorin about whether he’d been responsible for all the cock-ups with the merger, whether he’d tried to stop it, why the hell he’d even _bother_ , but he had just enough pride left that he didn’t want to take the blame long-term.

Damnit, he’d been GOOD at his job.

So he nabbed the post-it notes and a pen off his desk, went out into the corridor, scrawled a quick message on the top one, pulled it off, and then resumed his abrupt exit.

Dropping the pen and the rest of the post-it notes on the floor probably counted as littering but sod it if he cared at this point.

Thankfully, the slightly frantic buzz in the office managed to distract everyone long enough that they didn’t notice his departure. Bofur was elsewhere, perhaps closeted with one of the others, so Bilbo dropped the note on his desk.

Bofur had always been kind to him, through it all. Maybe he’d actually listen, no matter what else he was told.

***

When Bofur came back from an emergency meeting with Balin, in which he was caught up on what was going on and asked to search Bilbo’s computer for signs it might have been tampered with, he groaned in frustration at the note he found:

**_Thranduil has a snake in his house, and it was there long before I arrived. You’re all supposed to be good with words. Try checking the announcement against the contract rewrites._ **

**_Try being a little slower to jump to conclusions._ **

**_B_ **

‘Would a _name_ have been so hard, love?’ Bofur groaned, gripping his hair with the hand not holding the note and drawing the attention of those nearby.

‘What?’ Nori asked curiously, hurrying over. Bofur showed him, and Nori hissed. ‘Oh, ow. That sounds bitter. Is that Bilbo? What the hell happened this morning?’

‘Bilbo failed to give me time to speak,’ Thorin clarified as he walked into the main office, looking so pained that Bofur wanted to give _him_ a hug. Poor Thorin, talk about having a crap day. Balin had explained all about Thranduil’s bloody stupid ultimatum and what they were going to have to ask Bilbo to do for them while they worked everything out, ‘and I,’ Thorin blushed. Bofur blinked. Nope, definitely still blushing, ‘I froze up instead of managing to clarify. As far as Bilbo is concerned, he’s just been sacked.’

‘Oh, for Mahal’s sake, Thorin!’ Dori exclaimed, following Balin into the main office just on the tail end of this statement. The volume of his irritation attracted the rest of the company’s attention, and they all began to gather round as well.

‘Yes, thank you, I know!’ Thorin snapped back. ‘It was not my finest moment, but I’m running on about two hours’ sleep a night at this point. My brain… stalled.’ He looked so completely mortified that no one had the heart to harangue him further.

‘Alright, well, Bilbo clearly knew – or thought he knew – who’d tried to stop the merger and set him up,’ Nori announced, having snuck the post-it out of Bofur’s hand so he could read it. ‘He’s pissed off enough not to tell us, but he’s given us a clue. Can I suggest we get the answer to that, give Thranduil some evidence, and then you can go to Bilbo and do some successful grovelling that starts with, “Oh, and by the way, we’ve made sure nobody’s going to be telling the publishing world you’re a backstabber?”’

‘I should go after him immediately,’ Thorin argued worriedly. ‘It can’t possibly be good for him to be off alone, thinking he’s been sacked and we all believe he’d do something like this.’

‘If you go after him now, he’s probably going to slam the door in your face,’ Fíli proffered, apparently deciding it was time to contribute. ‘Give him a day or so and he might calm down.’

Thorin looked torn, still, and Bofur understood completely. The idea of leaving Bilbo to feel betrayed and abandoned didn’t sit right with him either. Looking around, he didn’t think it sat right with any of them.

‘Thorin, I hate to say it, but if you aren’t available to Thranduil and our clients for the rest of the day we’re going to have a nightmare on our hands. We might lose this merger anyway,’ Balin said cautiously. Thorin opened his mouth, face twisting in anger, and Balin held his hands up _don’t shoot the messenger_ -style. ‘I know!’ he acknowledged. ‘I know. I don’t want to be the sort of twat who thinks of these things either, Thorin, but we’ve worked on this for nearly a year and the company isn’t going to survive without this deal. I have to say it; I wouldn’t be doing my job otherwise.’

‘I’ll text Bilbo,’ Nori said suddenly. ‘At least let him know what’s going on. Here…,’ and he started to narrate out loud as he pulled his phone out to type.

**Thanks 4 the clue. T doesn’t believe u did NEthing wrong and we don’t either. Thranduil forced r hand but T wasn’t going 2 sack u. Give us time. We’ll sort it. N xx**

‘Your texting is an abomination,’ Bofur informed him kindly as he sent the message, and Nori thumped him in the stomach gently.

Thorin stood very still for a moment, contemplating, then asked, ‘Balin, is Thranduil happy now?’

‘For now, yes,’ Balin reassured. ‘He wants to work with you and Fíli on dealing with the fallout from today and making sure that everything gets back on track.’

‘In which case,’ Thorin said reluctantly, ‘I have to ask the rest of you to follow up on that,’ and Thorin pointed at Bilbo’s message. ‘Thranduil won’t be looking, he’s jumped straight to the easiest solution. Find out what in Mahal’s name is going on, and the quicker the better.’

***

Kíli looked at Bilbo’s message again and felt a wave of shame washing through him. It felt almost as if the note was aimed at him somehow.

 ** _You’re all supposed to be good with words_** , and who was meant to be better with them than Kíli, who edited other people’s writing for a living?

What had Bilbo seen in this damned announcement that he couldn’t?

‘It’s not just you, lad,’ Balin comforted softly, somehow reading his mind as always. ‘Bilbo specifically said to look at the contract rewrites. I’ve looked at those things a thousand times, it feels like; I should know them by heart. It’s just… Bilbo’s been the one typing and re-typing and editing them. We’ve been looking at the big picture and he’s been seeing the detail, for weeks now. It’s probably not a surprise he picked up on something we missed.’

‘I don’t even really get what we’re looking for,’ Ori said sheepishly, leaning against Dori’s desk with contract files spread all around him.

‘A similarity,’ Kíli told him. ‘Somewhere in the two documents there must be a phrase, a form of words, that clued Bilbo in to who that snake in the house is. The contract rewrites are all track changed, and the track changes tell us who added the comments. So if we can find the phrase, then we’ll know who wrote it.’

‘Or…,’ and that was Nori, sounding excited, ‘we could find a pattern that gives us a big bloody clue about what we need to look for!’

Suddenly he started grabbing sheets of paper and pulling them towards him seemingly at random, occasionally going up on his knees to reach across the others and nab something else.

Then he laid his spoils out in front of him in a specific order, flicking through until he had them as he wanted them, and gestured the others over.

‘Here,’ he said, waving, ‘come and see.’ They all crowded around to look, and Nori began to tap each document in turn.

‘First,’ he said, in a very teacher-to-student tone, ‘the original copy of _this_ file went missing and it caused a massive furore, including Bilbo accusing me of hiding it from him. This file, which was all to do with financial arrangements in the contract. We never did find it, so Thorin assumed Bilbo had shredded it by accident.’

‘Then,’ Nori tapped the next piece of paper, which looked like an email from Elros, ‘there was the meeting invitation which the Finance team at Woodland claimed they’d never received, and we had to delay the meeting to a later date.’

 _‘Then_ ,’ he continued, ‘there was a report Bilbo was supposed to write which would draw together all the remaining finance-related actions into one place, so that they could be discussed and ticked off. The email about that went missing between Elros’ sent items and Bilbo’s inbox. Bilbo didn’t write it, and there was yet another delay which Thranduil was even more unhappy about. Is anyone seeing a pattern here?’

‘I do not want to say Elros,’ Dori said quietly, scrubbing a hand over his face. ‘I truly do not.’ Kíli didn’t either. Elros was fun, most of them had spoken to him on the phone and liked him. More than that, he and Bilbo had become very friendly in the last couple of months and Kíli really didn’t want to think Elros had been using that friendship for something like this.

‘You do _not_ want to say Elros,’ Nori said acidly to his brother, ‘because that would be a ridiculous thing to say. Why would _Elros_ do something like this? Elros is a sweetheart. A bit dipsy, sometimes, but that’s why he’s so fun. Come on, you lot, someone with half a brain, please?’ Kíli was honestly having flashbacks to uni at this point, and all his least tolerant lecturers. He considered kicking Nori just to see if that would make it stop.

‘Finance,’ Balin enlightened them all. ‘The linking factor is finance.’

‘Yes,’ Nori concurred, with an emphatic wave of his hand. ‘It’s all financial, except for one missing file which was purely internal and about one of our clients. I think that was stolen just to throw Thorin off the scent and make Bilbo look generally incompetent, instead of specifically like he was sabotaging the merger. It was a very poor attempt. I could have done much better.’

‘Please don’t say things like that,’ Dori requested with a little moan. ‘I try not to think about it.’ Nori made a little pfft noise and appeared entirely unconcerned.

A lot of lights were going on around the room now, including in Kíli’s mind. Even so, he had a number of questions, starting with, ‘But how did he do it? He’d have had to…’

‘The meetings,’ Bofur said, and he looked angrier than Kíli had ever seen him. Almost murderously angry, which was just an odd expression on his face. ‘Not long after Bilbo started, probably when it become obvious he was going to last, Galion started hanging around his desk before meetings and staying back to help him with the tea and coffee. I noticed it because I thought he fancied Bilbo and I… Mahal, I nearly pitied him for how hopeless his cause was. Everyone could see Bilbo only had eyes for Thorin. Wasn’t that at all, though, was it? Lean up against Bilbo’s desk, wait until no one’s looking, delete an email. Ask if he wants help with the tea, he says no, take a slow walk back to the meeting room and pinch a file. Who’s ever going to know? What a fucking bastard!’

‘The trouble is, gentlemen, how are we going to prove it?’ Balin said, instantly stilling them all.

‘We can start by doing what Bilbo said,’ Kíli muttered after a long moment. ‘Ori, toss me Version 4 of the contract, the one Galion stole because of all the financial rewrites.’ Ori grabbed it off the floor and chucked it over to him. He flicked through, scanning quickly down each page. Right towards the end, he stopped, eyes sharpening and mouth tightening. ‘There,’ he said, turning it to show the others, before reaching over and picking up the morning’s press release and holding it underneath. ‘ _I have grave concerns over this term in the contract_ ,’ Kíli quoted. ‘ _The financial benefits all seem to be on one side of the equation._ ’

‘Thranduil will say its circumstantial,’ Balin told them, always careful to look at every angle. ‘He’ll claim Bilbo could have stolen the wording from the contract.’

‘Of course he will,’ Nori replied, smiling in a way that made both Ori and Dori look distinctly nervous, ‘but this is just… probable cause. Now we can look for real evidence. Besides, who has more reason to object to the merger – Thranduil’s Director of Finance, or a random temp Thorin brought in to act as his PA for a few months? If we need to go to the court of public opinion for any reason, our argument’s getting stronger.’

‘And how do you propose we get this real evidence?’ Balin queried, redirecting the conversation but still sounding a little like he didn’t want to know.

‘We don’t,’ Dori said, cutting Nori off with a grim and determined tone. Whether that was because he was angry at Bilbo’s treatment and the betrayal, or working to control Nori’s worst flights of fancy, Kíli wasn’t sure. Probably both. ‘Not without help, anyway.’ Then Dori got to his feet, went over to his desk, and picked up the phone. After a moment he said, ‘Hello, Elros. Are you alone at the moment?’

******


	21. Know-how

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your wonderful response to the last chapter. I really enjoyed seeing your reactions. I hope you enjoy this instalment :)

Chapter Twenty-One: Know-how

Bilbo leaned up against the bus stop and stared unseeingly at the road, still not quite able to believe what had just happened.

This morning he’d still had some time to find another job, or so he’d assumed. Now he was unemployed again.

Effective immediately.

Perhaps it shouldn’t make that much difference, really. Better to know that the end had come than to be constantly waiting for it, surely?

Bilbo snorted. He didn’t believe it, either.

There was nothing good about the realisation that those he’d thought were his friends had never valued his integrity at all.

The bus pulled up and he jumped on quickly, scanning his bus pass and tucking himself into a seat with (he hoped) his very best _Do not speak to me if you want to live_ aura pulled around him.

His meeting with Elrond Peredhel was meant to be tonight anyway. That gave him options, at least. He’d go to the café, sit in the warm until it was time, try and get himself to a point where he could answer interview questions calmly and sensibly.

Elrond would help him find another job. With his recommendation, Bilbo would stand a much better chance of getting something quickly, as long as Gandalf didn’t refuse to give him a reference.

Gandalf… Bilbo would have worried about telling him how everything had ended, but he’d heard his phone beep moments ago and he’d known what that would be. Gandalf receiving the news of his firing and contacting him to confirm that he’d been dropped from Greyhame’s books. Gandalf would need to do his own damage control over the agency’s reputation, after all.

Oh Yavanna, if Thranduil started throwing rumours around, Gandalf might not be _able_ to give him a reference and still save Greyhame’s reputation.

Even Elrond’s recommendation might not get Bilbo a job in that case.

Bilbo started to hyperventilate again and dug his nails into his palms until he got a grip on himself.

_There’s no point borrowing trouble, Bilbo_ , his mother would have said. _The world will give you plenty without going looking for more_.

‘You didn’t know how right you were, Mum,’ he muttered to himself, glad that there was hardly anyone on the bus at this time of day, and thus no one close enough to hear him talking to himself.

He stopped briefly at his flat for his laptop - more for a prop than anything, so he wouldn’t spend all afternoon sitting in the corner staring at the wall - then made his way to the Dell in a bit of a fog.

He’d barely made it to a table and sat down before Elladan was with him, leaving a frowning Elrohir to manage the till.

‘Butterfly, what is it? Aren’t you meant to be at work?’ Elladan murmured worriedly, deliberately keeping his voice low. Bilbo was so grateful for that nod to his privacy, after all the strains of the morning, that he did something he rarely did and reached out to someone else. Elladan’s arm was around him in a moment.

He could sense Elrohir moving around behind them, but it didn’t occur to Bilbo what his friend was doing until he heard the door closing twice in quick succession, the sound of locks turning and then wood clacking against glass.

Bilbo looked up sharply to see Elrohir stepping away from the front of the café, where the ‘Closed’ sign had just been flipped to face outwards, and shook his head wildly.

‘No,’ he protested. ‘No, you don’t need to….’

‘One afternoon is _not_ going to scupper our successful business,’ Elrohir informed him sternly, taking a seat on top of Bilbo’s table, ‘and, quite frankly, we’ve both tried helping friends before whilst also managing the shop and it’s a pain in the arse, Bilbo. Our regular customers are aware that sometimes the café closes unexpectedly. They survive.’

Elladan hmmed his agreement, squeezed Bilbo gently, and added, ‘It’s good for them, actually; they go to Costa to get their fix, remember how much they prefer the Dell instead, and are even more enthusiastic about us afterwards. Now, enough of that. What’s wrong?’

Bilbo stood still and silent for a long breath, taking all of that in, and experienced the same feeling he’d had in Thorin’s office: the realisation that he just didn’t have the energy to fight anymore. He’d clung on too hard for too long and then, once he’d had a few weeks of other people’s support and help with his burdens, had found he couldn’t shoulder the weight as easily alone.

They’d ruined him.

‘I’ve been fired,’ he announced plainly, barely even aware that one hand was still clenched in Elladan’s t-shirt.

And then, in the gap left by their shock, the whole convoluted morning came spilling out.

***

Thorin and Thranduil were still on speaking terms by the end of the morning, but only because they stuck strictly to business discussions and Thorin was earning himself a PhD in biting his tongue. It helped that Fíli trod on his foot every time he showed the slightest sign of saying something acidic and unwise.

He shouldn’t think about PhDs, Thorin realised. That only led in directions that were currently unhelpful.

(Oh, Bilbo, be alright. Please be alright. Why the hell couldn’t Thorin’s speaking-without-thinking habit have worked in his favour just _once_? Surely any words would have been better than none at all in that moment?

Then again, it was him. Possibly not.)

By lunchtime they felt sufficiently on top of things to take a break – not that Thorin was the least bit hungry – so Thorin and Fíli emerged into the main office. Thorin’s stomach clenched with nerves as he looked around for the rest of the team.

Bifur, the sole occupant of the room, gave him a tolerant grimace.

‘They left me to hold the fort,’ he said, with no little disgruntlement, ‘because obviously I know exactly what to do about all,’ he waved his hand around, ‘this. I muted the phones. The noise was giving me a migraine.’

Fíli looked like he was about to have a conniption, and Bifur broke.

‘Oh Mahal, Fíli, don’t pull that face at me,’ he produced a neatly written list from under his keyboard. ‘These are all the clients you need to call back; most of them were happy enough once I gave them the spiel you left us. All the journalists were told that the merger was going ahead, and we had no comment on the earlier article except that the quote within it was misinformed. I told our suppliers that they’d receive an email with all the relevant details later this afternoon and, in strictest confidence of course, that this morning was just someone causing mischief. There were a few mutterings, but nothing major.’

Fíli crumpled a bit of paper into a ball and chucked it at him, then began to laugh almost hysterically.

‘Fíli?’ Thorin asked, concern growing rapidly. ‘ _Fili?’_ when the laughing continued for about half a minute. Fíli waved him off.

Bifur got out of his chair, circled the desk and eyed Fíli carefully.

‘Why don’t you go and see the others, Thorin?’ he suggested gently. ‘They were in Dori’s office, last I checked.’

Thorin was going to object, but Fíli was finally quieting and looking a bit wrung out and embarrassed. He considered and judged that Bifur, who had more experience than any of them with the mind’s tendency to give up on you at inconvenient moments, was probably more use to Fíli right now.

As he moved away, he heard quiet talking and a slightly unsteady response, and hoped that was the right decision.

It would be nice to make one of those, just for a change.

***

‘Hello?’ Dís said into the phone, somewhat breathless after hurrying down the stairs. She’d been stronger in the last few weeks and was moving around more, spending less time confined to the ground floor, but speed was still a bit of a struggle.

‘Dís, it’s me,’ an oh-so-familiar voice answered, and her own voice died on a little gulp in her throat.

After a few too many beats of silence, she managed to swallow again and said, almost-steadily, ‘Balin.’

Balin sighed softly. ‘All else aside, little sister, we’re having the worst of days at work,’ he told her, with no other introduction. They’d always been like that when it came to work. Straight down to business, no faffing around. ‘The sort of day that puts that stony look on Thorin’s face and makes your boys go all quiet and yet inwardly manic.’ He stopped, just briefly, then added uncertainly, ‘Am I being a bastard if I say I need you?’

She could picture him. She could see him in her mind, leaning back in his chair, head tilted to the side so that his temple was lying against the headrest. Probably hiding in his office for a second of peace in amongst whatever madness had broken loose.

‘Oh, sod being a bastard, brother dear,’ she told him without a moment’s hesitation. ‘What’s that got to do with anything? I’ll be there in half an hour. Do you want Dwalin too?’

‘Can he bring food?’ Balin asked, and the sheer relief in his voice was all the thanks and the forgiveness she’d ever need.

‘If he knows what’s good for him,’ Dís stated firmly, already slipping into work mode and planning what she might need to deal with the sort of crisis that could overwhelm Balin. ‘Tell Thorin not to do anything stupid until I get there, on pain of death. Tell Fíli and Kíli that crises of paper can always be fixed. And tell yourself…’

Balin laughed, just a little, as she broke off.

‘Tell me what, Dís?’ he queried. She heard creaking and imagined him shifting so that he was now leaning back to look up at the ceiling.

‘Tell you I love you,’ she said with a smile, then stole a trick from Dwalin’s playbook and put the phone down.

***

The smile Nori gave Thorin when he entered Dori’s office was viciously triumphant.

Nori tended to respond that way when someone had threatened one of his and he was in a position to make them pay, Thorin had discovered.

Thorin suspected his responding smile was equally knife-like.

‘You have them,’ Thorin said, eyes on Nori, not a question but a confirmation.

‘We have him,’ Nori agreed. ‘Galion Nandor, Director of Finance at Woodland Online. We’re getting that evidence together now, with a little help.’

‘Help?’ Thorin asked, part-curious and part-concerned. What help could they have asked for and, more, what help could they trust at this point? How did they know Galion had been working alone?

Thorin was vaguely aware that he was using these thoughts to cover his overwhelming anger; that his fists were clenched, and one arm even pulled back, as if prepared to punch something. He’d been much better about not punching things since he reached his 20s. The boys’ sudden appearance in their lives had made him recognise that being a role model involved _not_ taking his anger out on objects (animate or inanimate) when he was annoyed.

He still backslid on the inanimate front occasionally when he was particularly provoked, and if this didn’t count as particularly provoked then Thorin didn’t know what did.

‘Oh, no. No, you don’t,’ Dís exclaimed from behind him, grasping his hand as she entered the room in a flurry and immediately worked to unclench his fist. ‘None of that. I told Balin nothing stupid until I arrived.’

‘But you’re here now,’ Thorin said automatically. He suspected he’d be having a minor heart attack at her sudden appearance in the office, if he wasn’t so used to having Dís in this space that it barely registered. He did wonder when Balin had called her, even so. ‘Clearly that means the stupidity can commence.’

Dís groaned.

‘Literary people, Mum,’ Kíli teased, though his heart wasn’t quite in it. ‘You should know to be careful with your phrasing by now.’

‘Oh, shut it, child,’ Dís retorted. ‘We can’t all think like _contract lawyers_.’ A hiss of offence went up around the room and Dís looked thoroughly satisfied with herself.

Probably because, as she’d intended, Thorin had been distracted from his anger far enough that his desire to punch something had faded. For now.

If Galion entered, he’d no doubt change his mind.

‘Dwalin has food,’ Dís told them all. ‘Grab something and eat, then someone tell me what in Mahal’s name is going on. Why are none of you working except Bifur? What on earth happened to Dori’s office? Why _is_ Thorin desperate to hit something, other than the usual? Where…,’ Dís suddenly looked around. ‘Where’s Bilbo?’

There was another hiss, equally involuntary, and various people suddenly had better things to do. Thorin felt his fist clench again, in concert with his heart, and forced his hand open.

He couldn’t do much about his heart yet. He needed the others to finish resolving this mess for Bilbo before he could take care of it.

‘Perhaps you’d better come through here, lass,’ Balin suggested, grabbing the food his brother held out as he did so. Thorin gave them a worried look, but Dís just patted his arm.

‘All sorted,’ she reassured lowly. ‘As it should have been days ago. Sorry, love. For putting you in the middle. Make it up to you later, okay?’

Thorin shook his head in exasperation but gave her an indulgent smile. He’d never held a grudge against her and never would, and they both knew it. He’d been the first one she came to when she realised she was pregnant at 18, even before Vili. _I can do this, Thorin_ , she’d told him, shaky but determined. _I can make it last with Vili and I can be a mother. But probably not without you_. And he’d told her she’d never have to, and she never had, and never would.

One little argument and a few days’ aggravation wasn’t going to change that.

Dís and Dwalin disappeared with Balin to be caught up on events, and Thorin began eating, finding he was hungry once he could force food past the knot in his stomach. It felt odd, this sense of waiting. There were half a million things he should be doing, even aside from questioning Nori and the others about Galion and this help they were expecting but… he needed five minutes just to stop and eat. He could trust his team (unlike fucking Thranduil, he thought cattily, who should trust a little less) and they felt things were under control. He watched Fíli and Bifur drift in, drawn by the food, and let everything flow past him for a few minutes.

Which was why he happened to be the one looking at the door when their visitors arrived.

***

Elros felt like he was coming out of his skin. He was a nervy sort of person, in general, he knew that. He startled easily, he drank a _lot_ of caffeine which meant he was a tad hyper, and he lived his working life in a constant state of controlled panic as he made plans which Thranduil and Legolas promptly _buggered up_.

He should be used to being nervous, but this was different.

This was different because Elros was also usually a happy sort of person. He liked his job (mostly). He loved his colleagues (or he’d thought he did). He enjoyed interacting with other people (on the whole).

He wasn’t used to some of his nerves being made up of pure fury.

How dare that… that WORM. How _dare_ he?

How dare he try to sabotage everything they’d worked so hard for because of his pettiness? How dare he lie and cheat his way through the last few months while smiling at Elros as if everything was normal? How dare he make it look as if _Elros_ was the one hurting a friend, or treat that friend as if he was just collateral damage of some sort?

Elros must have begun muttering to himself in irritation again because Legolas reached over and settled a calming hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

‘Shh,’ he instructed sympathetically. ‘We’re going to deal with him accordingly, and undo everything he’s done. Then I’m going to buy you as much dessert as you can possibly eat, and we’re going to sit down and book your next holiday in the diary, hmm?’

‘Justice, reparation, chocolate, holiday,’ Elros recited. ‘Yes. Okay, good. Who the fuck needs yoga anyway?’

Legolas let out the bright, beautiful laugh that had saved his life on many occasions, when Elros had been tempted to brain him with a keyboard.

‘Here we go,’ Legolas said when he stopped laughing, having successfully distracted Elros up until they reached Prospect’s offices. Funny that, in all the time they’d been working on the merger, Elros had only ever been here once.

Eru, he wondered if _he_ would have been Galion’s scapegoat, had he been a bit more convenient for it.

They walked in and found the whole place apparently, eerily deserted, which took Elros back to nervy and jumpy almost immediately. Legolas rolled his eyes and tugged him off to the right, and Elros suddenly realised that, oh yes, he could hear people over in that direction.

Goody.

They walked into a corner office and the first glance Elros met was Thorin Durin’s.

Even better. The one person who probably had a burning desire to strangle everyone at Woodland right now, after being blamed for that debacle this morning when it was actually their fault.

Elros resisted the urged to hide behind Legolas. Using the boss’ son as a human shield couldn’t get you fired, could it?

‘Umm, hello,’ Elros ventured. ‘Dori asked me to come?’

‘So I did. I wasn’t expecting you to bring company,’ Dori said curiously, rising from behind his desk like a flotation device in a storm.

Or something.

It had been a while since Elros had had any tea. Brain function was starting to suffer.

‘Galion is my direct report,’ Legolas explained, thankfully taking over the conversation before Elros could open his mouth. As he spoke, Elros recognised Balin Fundinson and Dís Durin emerging from an office at the back of the room, with another man he didn’t know behind them. Wonderful, a full audience! ‘Elros came to me for help because I could give permission to access his work emails, which was our best chance for finding proof of his involvement. As it happens, I received secondary proof today which meant that my father had no qualms about firing Galion,’ he checked his watch, ‘about five minutes ago.’

‘There was proof in his work emails?’ Thorin’s IT guy said, looking rather incredulous. ‘Really?’

‘First rule of life,’ Elros reminded him. ‘People are stupid. People who think they’re sneaky are usually the most stupid, because they assume everyone else is a blithering idiot.’

‘Fair point, well made,’ IT-guy noted. He gave Elros a lovely smile, the sort that was like tucking up inside a quilt on a cold day, and Elros almost sighed.

Yes, he had a weakness for nice guys who looked like they’d give good hugs. Sue him.

Or not. Unless you had a burning desire to own his Kindle, his collection of brightly-coloured knick-knacks and his random assortment of DVDs.

He shook his head and tried to tune back in to the conversation.

‘Galion sent the email to _ME Publishing_ from his work email,’ Legolas informed them. ‘There was some correspondence between him and the journalist where he requested assurances of anonymity before he gave them anything worthwhile, but he seems to have used his work account so that they’d trust him as a source. Presumably he meant to delete the emails later, because that’s where we found the meeting invite he claimed never to have received – in his deleted items.’

Dori snorted loudly. ‘Oh, Mahal yes, because no semi-competent person has ever retrieved anything from there!’ he said tartly, rolling his eyes at Dís in a way that made it clear they’d both done exactly that more than once.

‘Indeed,’ Balin murmured, looking at Dori pointedly. ‘All by themselves, even.’ Dori shook his head.

‘ _Focus_ ,’ Thorin warned, and they both looked chastised.

‘Presumably,’ Legolas continued, gracefully pretending nothing had happened, ‘he planned to permanently delete the entire lot before he moved to his new role,’ and he held up what Thranduil had actually considered to be the most damning evidence in the end. A nervous email Legolas had received from another company this morning, requesting references for Galion in advance of the job offer they’d planned to make.

Galion had asked them not to contact Woodland in advance of making an offer, of course, but then the other CEO had seen all the kerfuffle in the press this morning and… well, people didn’t usually get to the top of their professions by being _stupid_.

It had been embarrassing for Legolas to have to inform the CEO of the other company that Galion was currently under investigation for corporate espionage against his employer, but they could hardly fail to mention it and let him blithely move elsewhere.

‘Is that what all this was about?’ Balin asked disbelievingly. ‘Biding his time until he could move jobs?’

‘Partially, we think,’ Legolas replied, tone deliberately even. ‘We always knew Galion objected to the merger. We just didn’t really understand why he held on to the objection once the terms had been ironed out in to something suitable for both sides. However, Elros thinks…,’ and Legolas turned to Elros, looking sadly to him for backup.

Damnit, they’d both liked Galion. He hadn’t seemed like a traitorous swine. He’d been friendly, approachable… far too stubborn, but so was everyone else in the damned office.

It was all so stupid.

‘Galion was scared of the changes,’ Elros theorised aloud, aware his voice was a bit shaky but not quite able to make it even. ‘Not just in the way most people would be worried about losing what’s familiar, but because he didn’t feel certain he’d be able to handle a bigger operation competently. He’d become reliant on repetition to handle the job, and he used others to shore him up when anything new appeared. We knew that; it was something Thranduil planned to discuss with Thorin once the merger was complete.’ He took a deep breath, ‘Particularly because I suspected his alcohol dependency was slipping towards alcoholism.’

A couple of people around the room sighed at that and Elros agreed. Yet, part of him still thought that Galion’s bigger problem had always been his refusal to just ask for help or accept that he was in over his head. If he’d worked half as hard on adapting as he had on his bloody sabotage…

‘Anyway, we must not have been subtle enough about it,’ he continued. ‘When Galion couldn’t convince us to halt the merger, he tried to slow it so he could put an exit plan in place. Even more, he tried to be certain that Bilbo would take the blame so his reputation with his new firm wouldn’t be damaged. If he hadn’t got spiteful at the end and tried to _hurt_ us as well, with that fake announcement, then he’d probably have got away with it. Like I said: stupid.’

‘Stupid and pointless, but then, aren’t most of the things we do to hurt each other?’ Dís said, giving Elros a very sympathetic look. It meant a lot, coming from her. After all, her people had been damaged because of his failure to see what was under his nose.

‘For now, it’s dealt with at least,’ Thorin concluded, looking so relieved that Elros’ heart lightened a little more. ‘Or I assume as much…?’ he said questioningly in Legolas’ direction.

‘It is dealt with, and any joint tidying up that must be done can be discussed on another day,’ Legolas confirmed. ‘Except just one thing, which we thought you might want to know about immediately….’

******


	22. Workaround

Chapter Twenty-Two: Workaround

Elrond Peredhel was both everything and nothing like Bilbo had expected him to be.

He was astonishingly like his sons, which Bilbo had half-expected given their uncanny mirroring of each other… yes, he knew they were identical, but it was their vocal inflections and gestures that made the resemblance uncanny, not their physical resemblance. Many of those their father shared, along with the same dark hair, grey eyes and almost unearthly beauty.

It was enough to make a person feel depressingly short and dumpy, but Bilbo was used to that and simply ignored it.

What Bilbo hadn’t expected was that Elrond would look so youthful – more brother than father to his sons – and yet have an air of patient wisdom that made it clear where the twins got their empathy from. Somehow Elrond gave the impression that he had seen everything and could handle anything.

No wonder the man was so good at his job. Employers and temps alike must be falling all over themselves to work with him.

‘Bilbo Baggins,’ Elrond was saying kindly now, ‘do come in and sit down. The twins tell me you’ve had a trying day. Would you like a cup of tea?’

Bilbo was almost drowning in tea at this point, actually, but it seemed rude to refuse so he nodded and accepted the cup he was poured from a proper pot. The chair he’d sat in was so comfortable, he could quite happily curl up for a nap. Elrond’s office was clearly designed to be soothing, full of plants and potted trees that, if you looked glancingly at them, almost seemed to be taking over the walls. Walls painted a soft mint green that had Bilbo relaxing unconsciously.

Elrond caught Bilbo looking and laughed softly.

‘The only problem with my grand plan,’ he said wryly, gesturing around, ‘is that occasionally I get a client with terrible hayfever and they can’t even step foot inside. Too clever for my own good, sometimes.’

Bilbo spluttered with involuntary laughter, meeting Elrond’s eyes quickly, and Elrond smiled.

‘There, that’s better,’ the other man murmured. ‘Meetings that start with laughter always go much more smoothly. Now, you need a job as soon as possible, preferably a permanent position but temporary in the meantime would be acceptable. Is that right?’

‘Yes,’ Bilbo answered immediately. ‘I’ve been working admin up to now, most recently as a PA.’

‘Hmm, for Thorin Durin at Prospect,’ Elrond nodded. ‘Elrohir told me. He mentioned it ended poorly, which is why he was so keen that we meet quickly.’ Bilbo could feel himself flushing bright red at the reminder, embarrassed that this completely put-together man had heard all about his disastrous time at Prospect, and Elrond immediately shook his head.

‘No, Bilbo, please, that was my poor phrasing,’ he reassured. ‘Elrohir was quite clear that there was no error on your part, and I trust my sons’ judgement implicitly.’

‘It could cause problems,’ Bilbo offered, reluctantly. He didn’t even want to think about it, but it had to be said. Elrond deserved to know what he was taking on (Bilbo still hadn’t brought himself to look at his phone except to hold it face down whilst turning it off. He knew why Gandalf would have to take Bilbo off his books, but he didn’t want to confront it yet). ‘Thranduil Oropherson was furious; if he decides to tell everyone I did it, then no one will want to employ me.’

‘Oh, I can handle Thranduil, don’t you worry,’ Elrond informed him. ‘He knows better than to come near one of mine without proper evidence, which he can’t possibly have given that you’re innocent. He’ll behave.’

Apparently it was… as simple as that. Bilbo almost gaped. He’d really had no idea how lucky he’d been when he’d stumbled upon the Dell all those months ago.

Elrond only smiled serenely.

The rest of the meeting was spent running through Bilbo’s skills and experience, then matching it to a couple of roles Elrond had open at the moment so he could contact the clients in the morning. The rush of adrenaline that left Bilbo as Elrond promised that, even if these didn’t work, he _would_ be able to find Bilbo something soon was enough to make him feel light-headed.

‘Now, I just need to dot the last couple of ‘i’s and cross the ‘t’s,’ Elrond said, so softly Bilbo almost didn’t hear him. He reached across his desk to the phone and hit a number quickly, before Bilbo could ask any questions.

‘What do you want, Elrond?’ a familiar gruff voice snapped, taking Bilbo so much by surprise that he snapped upright in the chair and glared at Elrond without meaning to. ‘Do you know what time it is?’

‘Why no, old friend, haven’t looked at a clock in hours,’ Elrond said airily, completely unconcerned even though he was telling a blatant lie. It had been 6.30 before the appointment even began so Elrond knew very well how late it was. ‘Never mind, you know you never begrudge your help for urgent matters.’

‘I know no such thing!’ Gandalf objected. He sounded a lot more out-of-temper than a late evening phone call would account for, Bilbo thought worriedly. There couldn’t have been unfortunate consequences so quickly, surely… ‘How urgent can it possibly be? We work in recruitment, Elrond, we’re hardly saving the world.’

‘No, only the occasional livelihood,’ Elrond murmured, looking at Bilbo with an inexplicable fondness and ignoring his involuntary shakes of his head as he tried to get Elrond to stop. ‘I need a reference, Gandalf. I’m taking someone onto my books at short notice and I need to get everything set up asap.’

There was a noise on the other end of the phone that Bilbo would have classified as a gasp if it hadn’t been Gandalf.

A huff of annoyance, maybe.

‘ _Elrond Peredhel_ ,’ the older man growled threateningly, making Bilbo wince. ‘If you have phoned me at 7.30 at night in order to _steal one of my temps_ , you cold bastard, you can forget that game of golf next Saturday and screw yourself with your own club!’

Elrond burst out laughing.

Bilbo gaped.

‘I knew you were going to say that!’ Elrond exclaimed with great satisfaction. ‘I didn’t understand why the twins were bringing him to me at all, in truth, but I was hardly going to turn him away if he needed help. Why on earth isn’t he with you if he’s having trouble with your client, Gandalf?’

‘What trouble?’ Gandalf practically exploded, frustration bubbling over. ‘Who?’ he added, presumably realising this was perhaps the better immediate question.

‘You don’t know?’ Bilbo asked, shocked out of his silence. ‘Then why did you text me earlier?’

‘ _Bilbo_?’ Gandalf exclaimed, startled. ‘I didn’t text you,’ he followed up. ‘I haven’t texted you in weeks; I haven’t needed to.’ He paused for a second. ‘I hadn’t thought I needed to. Clearly I’ve been missing something.’

Elrond gave Bilbo a long look.

‘Bilbo, can I assume you don’t receive many texts that aren’t from Gandalf,’ he queried carefully. Bilbo nodded with embarrassed reluctance. ‘May I suggest you check who that was from?’

Bilbo didn’t want to. He really didn’t. There were a limited number of options and none of them were likely to be pleasant, but… well, Elrond was doing a great deal for him. It seemed rude to refuse.

‘While Bilbo is doing that, perhaps someone could tell me what on earth is happening?’ Gandalf complained. ‘Why does Bilbo need a new agency? What’s suddenly wrong with my perfectly good agency, and the extremely good job I found him through it?’

Bilbo knew Gandalf didn’t mean anything by it. That was just the way he talked (moaned. It was the way he moaned, everyone who knew him would agree that was his main mode of communication).

He still froze.

The whole thing was a bit raw at the moment, and the words sounded like an accusation to his ears even if they weren’t meant that way.

Elrond obviously sensed that because he began to give Gandalf the highlights of the last few weeks without any comment from Bilbo, while Bilbo fished his phone out of his bag and switched it on. It felt like it took an age to wake up, though it was probably only a couple of minutes.

Oh.

The text was from Nori.

The sound Bilbo made was most definitely a gasp. Even a biased observer couldn’t have called it anything else.

**Thanks 4 the clue. T doesn’t believe u did NEthing wrong and we don’t either. Thranduil forced r hand but T wasn’t going 2 sack u. Give us time. We’ll sort it. N xx**

Oh.

Oh Yavanna.

_T doesn’t believe you did anything wrong and we don’t either._

_T wasn’t going to sack you_.

 _Give us time. We’ll sort it_.

Oh fuck.

‘Bilbo?’ Elrond asked gently. His recitation must have paused when Bilbo gasped, because he was watching Bilbo cautiously, sympathetically, but not speaking. Gandalf was equally silent on the other end of the phone.

Bilbo would like, just once, to be eloquent and professional and full of poise in this sort of situation.

To make a perfect impression on someone important who could help him with his future career.

But he was Bilbo Baggins, who started arguments, and kicked photocopiers, and apparently stormed out of jobs without (oh Yavanna) letting people say a word about the situation at hand…

So instead he stuttered miserably, ‘Umm, I… I think I… it… I’m so sorry, you were so kind… I think I need to go home?’

‘Can I see, Bilbo?’ Elrond requested. ‘Or is it private?’ Bilbo held the phone out mutely. Elrond read very quickly and smiled in a pleased fashion.

‘Ah, well, I rather hoped that it was all a misunderstanding,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘Not that I wouldn’t have been very happy to have you, Bilbo, with all the boys have told me. Gandalf is right, however. It’s a very good job. No need to leave it if you don’t have to.’

‘Dís will be coming back soon,’ Bilbo said abruptly. ‘They won’t need me anymore.’ It came blurting out as the memory returned, the realisation that his problems were far from over.

Nor were his problems at Prospect over even if he did return, he knew, but one thing at a time.

‘Yes, and _Greyhame_ will be very happy to do something about that,’ Gandalf chipped back in, chidingly. ‘I’m well aware that temps two-time their agencies all the time, Bilbo, but I didn’t take you for such a hussy.’

Bilbo rolled his eyes at the phone, settled by the fact that, even as all else around him shifted constantly, Gandalf stayed forever the same. He couldn’t help giggling a little.

‘Oh fine, you grumpy old sod,’ he conceded, ‘but you’d better be as good as Elrond. Otherwise I’ll just dump you instead of cheating.’

‘You young people,’ Gandalf muttered. ‘No staying power when times get tough.’

That… perhaps hit a little too close to home on a number of levels, but only because Bilbo was being overly sensitive.

‘I should go,’ he told them. ‘I’ll need to go to work in the morning and talk to them. See what happened. What happens next.’

‘You’ll phone me afterwards,’ Gandalf commanded, and Bilbo consented readily enough. A couple of polite goodbyes and he was on his way.

He felt like an utter tit, confused as an oliphaunt in the Hithaeglir, and still rather pissed off with Thorin.

It was worrying that the state was beginning to feel normal.

***

It was perhaps more worrying that his heart leapt when he reached home and found Thorin sitting on his doorstep, looked like he’d been run over by the aforementioned oliphaunt.

To compensate, his tone was harsher than intended when he asked, ‘What are you doing here?’

Thorin looked pained but determined as he rose to his feet, grimacing as he tried to stretch stiff muscles. Bilbo felt a burst of concern, this time, at just _how_ awful Thorin looked and squashed it irritably.

We’re angry with him, he reminded himself. He thought we were incompetent.

 _Apparently we’re using the royal we to talk about ourselves now_ , his subconscious responded. _If he replaces incompetent with_ insane _then he’s probably the one in the right_.

Bilbo really needed to stop talking to himself.

‘Galion was sacked this afternoon,’ Thorin announced. Talking to himself was no longer a problem. Suddenly, Bilbo couldn’t have mustered a thought if his life depended on it. ‘The majority of our team spent all morning chasing that clue you left Bofur. Nori put it together, and he and Kíli got the first bits of evidence. Then Dori passed the reins to Elros, who brought Legolas in to help. By mid-afternoon, they’d finished the job. Thranduil sacked him for corporate espionage and unethical business practices. Acting like a raging arsehole, basically. They’re hoping he’ll agree to go to treatment for alcoholism in exchange for not completely destroying his business reputation.’

Bilbo’s brain slowly came back online as that final puzzle piece slid towards its place. It still didn’t quite fit – it didn’t really explain why Galion had done what he’d done – but it was more than he’d had before.

And everything Thorin had just said seemed to back up Nori’s text, didn’t it? They’d acted on his hint. They’d found the real culprit. They’d made Thranduil see and cleared Bilbo’s name.

Though that didn’t necessarily mean Thorin had believed Bilbo before they’d had the evidence to support him, a sneaky voice in the back of his mind whispered.

Either Thorin could read his thoughts or, more likely, Bilbo still looked frozen with wary suspicion.

‘I’d like you to read this,’ he requested tensely, holding out one of the pieces of paper that Bilbo had only just realised he was holding.

Bilbo eyed it for a moment, then reached forward and took it gingerly. It was only when he had to stretch for the paper that he appreciated just how far from Thorin he’d stopped. He was essentially blocking the stairwell if anyone else wanted to come up.

‘We should go inside,’ he said quickly, looking around nervously, as if his neighbours might suddenly appear from nowhere.

‘I’d appreciate the warmth,’ Thorin admitted, and Bilbo realised that the stairwell _was_ freezing and Thorin’s stiffness might be due to cold as well as time spent on the floor.

Guilt niggled at him and he opened the door as quickly as he could, brushing past Thorin but touching as little of his ex as he could.

Sweet Yavanna, Thorin was his ex-boyfriend. How had that thought not occurred to him before now?

Probably because the work issues had been more pressing.

The thought prompted him to look down at the paper in his hand again, just as Thorin was shutting the door, realising that he held an email Balin had apparently printed earlier that day. The date stamp was from that morning. Subject Line: My Office.

**B**

**Thranduil thinks that press release was Bilbo. I tried convincing him that’s utter nonsense but he’s adamant Bilbo be sacked or the merger’s off. We need to think up something that appeases him _without_ sacking Bilbo. My office, now, with ideas.**

**T**

‘You didn’t give me a chance to speak,’ Thorin said tiredly into the perfect quiet. ‘I knew it wasn’t you, but Thranduil was breathing down my neck like a bloody dragon. I needed space to work everything out.’ Frustration built in his voice as he went along, and Bilbo’s hackles went up in return. ‘We were going to ask you to take some leave on full pay while we got him calmed down and worked out who it really was!’

‘You were quick enough to accuse me of everything else,’ Bilbo shot back. ‘What was I meant to believe?’

‘I thought you’d made a few _mistakes_ ,’ Thorin barked at him. ‘I thought you were struggling and too embarrassed to admit it, so I was trying to encourage you to trust me enough to tell me. It’s not as if I was having a go at you for it, Bilbo. Everyone has trouble when they start a new job; Mahal knows how many times Balin had to pull my arse out of the fire when I took over Prospect with nowhere near enough training.’

‘I told you it wasn’t me, and you didn’t trust me,’ Bilbo argued, stood up tall as remembered aggravation took over once more.

‘And things got tough and you didn’t trust me,’ Thorin told him, looking weary again. As if they were somehow counterpoints, he slumped even as Bilbo had straightened. ‘You decided what I was going to do and just walked out, Bilbo. At least I let you say your piece.’

They were still standing in the entry to Bilbo’s one main room, Bilbo realised, facing each other like a pair of duellists who’d forgotten the swords.

Except they were both holding paper, he thought a little hysterically, looking down; in their world, that actually meant they were armed, didn’t it?

Strange the thoughts the mind could conjure when it was trying to avoid other things.

 _Dad, I think I might be a bit of a pessimist_. The words rang in his ears, given a moment’s opportunity.

He’d promised himself. Promised Dad, if only in his head, that he was going to do better. Wasn’t going to jump ship every time something went awry, just in case someone tried to throw him overboard instead.

Only he’d done it again.

Oh, Thorin had been wrong too. He _had_. He should have believed Bilbo when he’d said those mistakes weren’t his fault. Yavanna knew Bilbo had been proven correct by now. He just wasn’t sure it mattered who’d been _more_ right. More wrong.

‘I was right,’ he insisted. ‘About the files. About Galion.’

‘Yes,’ Thorin said immediately, despite the frustration he’d been emanating from across the room. ‘You were.’

‘Alright then,’ Bilbo said quietly, and crumpled the email up, hoping Thorin would understand that he was putting the whole thing to bed.

‘As easy as that?’ Thorin asked, stunned. He looked like someone had hit him over the head with one of Glóin’s old accounting textbooks. The ones they used to prop up broken furniture they hadn’t got around to replacing yet.

‘We were both right, we were both wrong, Galion was playing everyone like the harp you think Dís hasn’t told me about,’ Thorin blushed despite the fraught moment. Bilbo sighed softly. ‘Thorin, I don’t want to be miserable anymore. I don’t want to be unemployed any sooner than I have to be. I hope the fact you’re here means I get to keep my job until Dís comes back. I hope it means I get to keep my friends. Holding a grudge doesn’t get me any of that.’

‘We’re going to need more practice at trusting each other,’ Thorin said decisively. ‘We won’t get that without being friends.’

A typically nonsensical Durin declaration, but Bilbo would take it. He allowed himself to smile at Thorin, finally, and was warmed through when Thorin smiled back.

‘I have something else for you,’ Thorin offered, holding out the rest of the papers. ‘This is an apology, but from Thranduil, I hasten to add. Kíli proposed the idea to me weeks ago, and we were already planning to invite you to apply once the merger was complete. Thranduil’s part is his approval of the post a little earlier than he planned, and the letter at the bottom.’

Baffled, Bilbo took the papers and scanned the top one curiously.

 **Junior Editor – Woodland Prospect** , it said proudly, and his breath caught. His head shot up, looking at Thorin searchingly, and Thorin grinned.

‘Part of the point of the merger is to grow the businesses,’ he pointed out. ‘That means additional authors, and more work to do. Kíli wants someone he can train up to do it his way, and Legolas agreed. The post requires very little in the way of previous experience.’

Bilbo looked down again and continued scanning through, even as hope began fluttering in his chest. He wasn’t really able to take much of it in, Yavanna knew he’d have to look again later, but the letter that Thorin had referred to certainly caught his attention.

 **Mr Bilbo Baggins** , it read.

**I am very rarely ashamed of my behaviour as I have been today. My temper frequently gets the better of me, but I do not normally lash out as I did this morning. Worse, I lashed out at the innocent party when the guilty party was before me the whole time, pulling the wool over my eyes. You have my sincerest apologies. You also have my thanks for seeing what we did not, and for doing something about it. Oddly, I am more pleased about the merger today than any day previously. Our colleagues made an impressive team.**

**Thorin will have drawn your attention to the Junior Editor position by now. We will open it to advert, as we must, and all candidates will be judged against the same set of criteria. That is my promise to you. Nothing that has happened in recent days will affect your chances in any way. Nor will anything that Galion blamed upon you be considered.**

**Your own performance during the merger, however, you should most definitely mention if you reach the interview stage. You have impressed my team greatly.**

**Yours**

**Thranduil Oropherson**

Bilbo could feel another of those wide smiles stretching across his face.

A job opportunity, at a place where he knew the business inside out. Where he could tailor the application like a handmade suit. Where he would receive an _absolutely fair_ hearing, but could be reasonably sure they weren’t going to chuck his application out over an unfinished PhD.

He was beginning to think Elrond Peredhel was actually the patron saint of hopeless job hunters.

‘We got it right, then?’ Thorin asked hopefully.

Bilbo just smiled helplessly at him. Thorin heaved out a relieved breath.

‘We got it right,’ he concluded. ‘Kíli will start singing _We Are The Champions_ if you don’t stop smiling like that, you realise. You doomed us to this!’

Bilbo didn’t care. There were worse things in life than Kíli’s voice. He told Thorin so.

‘Hmm, his brother might not agree with you,’ Thorin mused, but they both knew he didn’t mean it.

Then Thorin sobered suddenly. He stretched his hands out at his sides, flexing his fingers as if trying to restore bloodflow, even though it should have been fine.

Oh. Thorin was nervous.

‘Bilbo, are we… together? Again,’ Thorin asked hesitantly.

Bilbo hesitated too.

That was a question, wasn’t it? A good one.

‘I don’t know,’ he answered at last, because he really didn’t. ‘I want to be, Thorin. I do. I just don’t know if it’s a good idea right now.’

Thorin looked crushed, and Bilbo felt awful. Not for saying it, just because Thorin being upset made him feel awful in general.

‘I’m not saying never,’ he rushed to assure. ‘Just, maybe not now. You said we need to get better at trusting each other. We should try that first.’

‘We can’t date while we do it?’ Thorin asked, then looked as if he’d like to bite his tongue. He crossed his arms over his chest, like that might help keep any more involuntary words in.

Bilbo didn’t know whether it would help Thorin, but it wasn’t doing _his_ higher brain functions any favours.

‘What,’ Bilbo teased, trying to ease the awkwardness, ‘you think I’m so pretty you can’t just be my friend?’

Thorin snorted. ‘Oh, absolutely,’ he agreed, faking a swooning mien. Which at least got his biceps out of Bilbo’s immediate eyeline. ‘I’ll die of frustrated longing within two weeks.’

Bilbo giggled, then tried to make his face serious again. Reaching out, he patted Thorin’s arm consolingly (and involuntarily. Stupid instincts). ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure Thranduil takes good care of your company.’

Funnily enough, Thorin made an instant recovery.

Bilbo, laughing yet again, thought friends wouldn’t be so bad.

Really.

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There should be one more chapter after this. It's half-written but there was too much left to finish it this weekend. I'll do my best to finish it up next weekend and get it posted shortly after.


	23. Plan A

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a Drenagon epilogue, so warning for sweetness overload :P

Chapter Twenty-Three: Plan A

If Bilbo got paid according to his contribution to the awkwardness levels at Prospect, he thought to himself wryly, he could probably give up work by now.

He hovered in the doorway, staring into an office just beginning to come alive for the day, and tried to convince himself to take the final steps.

It would be fine, he reminded himself. Thorin had been the worst of it, after all. What could possibly be difficult after that?

‘You owe me lunch, you sod,’ someone said from behind him, conspiratorially.

Bilbo almost had a heart attack.

Then he caught sight of the cause of his near-death experience and realisation flooded him.

‘May!’ he exclaimed. ‘Oh, sweet Yavanna, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot.’

May just laughed knowingly and shook her head.

‘Oh, don’t you worry about it, pet,’ she dismissed. ‘I’m only teasing. I knew something must be going on up here yesterday, what with all the phones suddenly diverting to poor Bifur, and Dís and Dwalin turning up mid-afternoon, and then that gorgeous blonde in the afternoon. Why don’t we ever get anyone like that working here, hmm?’

Bilbo couldn’t resist giving her a look of slight disbelief and gesturing behind him at Prospect, wherein worked several very attractive men (in his humble opinion).

‘I like mine a little skinnier and more pretty-boy,’ she sighed. ‘Also, more interested in me. It’s a flaw. Not that I think the blonde would be interested in me either, pet, but if there were more of them… a girl can dream, can’t she?’

‘I didn’t imagine Thorin would be interested in me,’ Bilbo confessed quietly, looking over his shoulder very quickly first, to be sure no one was close enough to hear, ‘and we’re about to start working with a lot of pretty ones like your blonde, I think. You’ll have to keep meeting me for lunch.’ Then he winked at her.

May _cackled_.

‘I knew there was a reason I liked you!’ she crowed. ‘I tell you, Bilbo, if you get a vacancy for a receptionist in that new building you’re all going to, I want to be the first to hear about it. Now, go on, in you go before we both get in trouble. I was only supposed to be bringing the post up.’ She handed it off to him, flipped him a jaunty wave and sailed off happily.

Leaving Bilbo staring at the door again but feeling more confident this time.

He’d been terrified that first day, too, but they’d made him feel welcome. He knew this lot now; they weren’t the type to be cruel. He was fussing over nothing.

He took a deep breath and walked in, heading for the post tray to deliver what May had just given him.

He’d just finished tucking it away when he was spotted.

‘Now, that’s better,’ a soft Irish accent said with great satisfaction. ‘Back where you belong, are you?’

Bilbo smiled, which seemed to happen automatically around Bofur at least two-thirds of the time, and looked over to find the man sat cross-legged on top his desk, smiling contentedly back.

Bilbo opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

‘Pssh,’ Bofur dismissed, as if he’d spoken anyway. ‘I don’t deal with intrigue and melodrama, sweetheart. Above my paygrade. I’m just glad to have a friend back in the right place and looking less like he’s all eaten up inside. Though, the next time you fancy being a cryptic noir film, consider how much you always want to yell at the characters to just “give someone the bloody name”, yeah?’

Bilbo blushed, he knew he did, and Bofur laughed.

‘Ah well, never mind,’ he said, all trace of scolding gone. ‘It all got sorted. Now, you’d better go see the boys before they explode. I think they got here about 7.30 and Kíli appears to have had _quite_ a lot of coffee.’

‘Oh Eru,’ Bilbo murmured, thinking that perhaps a higher power than Yavanna would be required for this one. Bofur jumped off the desk, gave a bow and gestured him past.

He only stopped Bilbo once more.

‘Make sure you talk to Nori and Elros, too,’ Bofur advised quietly, already sitting at his computer when Bilbo glanced over his shoulder. ‘We’d never have got it all sorted without them.’

‘I will,’ Bilbo promised, equally softly. Then he braced himself for chaos.

***

He was almost right.

He hadn’t got the door of Fíli and Kíli’s office fully open before he heard joyous cries of ‘Bilbo!’ and Kíli came flying towards him.

Then the younger man came to a dead halt, arms still half-outstretched, and just hovered in front of him.

‘Kíli?’ Bilbo queried, confused, raising his eyebrows at the unusual restraint.

‘Sorry,’ Kíli replied, backing away carefully. ‘I just… too much coffee.’

‘Coffee makes you spontaneously not-hug people?’ Bilbo asked, before realising that was completely tactless. Kíli’s obvious embarrassment made him feel like an arse.

‘I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,’ Kíli said quietly, turning to fuss with some papers on his desk. ‘I know you and Uncle aren’t together anymore.’

‘Thorin and I are going to be friends,’ Bilbo told them, looking at Fíli curiously. Fíli just looked calmly back. ‘Even if we weren’t, I don’t understand what that has to do with this.’

Kíli opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, shrugging as if he didn’t know what to say.

Fíli sighed a little.

‘Bilbo, when you were angry with Uncle, you stopped speaking to us as well. _Someone_ has got it into his head that we came on too strong and you’d rather we were less… us.’

‘Oh,’ Bilbo said remarkably evenly as his brain tried to process that. After a few moments, he continued, ‘That’s a terrible idea.’ Kíli’s head shot up. ‘You should never take your cues on how to behave from me when I’m being an idiot, Kíli. We can’t be emotionally incompetent at the same time. That way lies disaster.’

Fíli snorted, trying to suppress his mirth and failing miserably.

‘I’m a bit much,’ Kíli said shyly, in the tone of one who’d been told this many times before. Bilbo wasn’t surprised that he’d heard it a lot, but he was surprised that it bothered Kíli. The other man always seemed so utterly shameless and completely confident.

Then again, Bilbo probably gave people who didn’t look too hard the impression he knew what he was doing. Appearances could be deceptive, and all that.

‘I have a tendency to turn into a hermit, when left to my own devices,’ he told Kíli matter-of-factly. This wasn’t how he’d expected the conversation to go at all, but he’d obviously broken more than one thing with his little episode earlier in the week and better he fix it now than let it fester. ‘We’ll balance out. Especially with all the others around too.’ He motioned to Fíli, and then out to the rest of the office.

Kíli thought for a few breaths, then nodded decisively. ‘No more ignoring us when you’re mad at Uncle,’ he demanded, with just a hint of vulnerability underneath that made it clear he really wanted a promise.

‘Only when I’m mad at you,’ Bilbo teased, and Kíli beamed and darted forward for the hug he’d planned to give originally. Fíli joined less enthusiastically but just as warmly from the other side.

‘Pub tonight,’ Kíli announced after a few seconds, when they’d all broken away. ‘All of us. I keep leaving Uncle out and it’s rude, so this time he comes too.’

‘Sounds like a very good idea to me,’ Bilbo agreed.

***

When Thorin arrived at 9.15, Bilbo was already seated behind his desk, while Dori sat next to him with his laptop open. They were steadily triaging emails while Bilbo caught up on the detail of what had passed in his absence.

Thorin had received dozens of emails yesterday, most of which he hadn’t had time to deal with. Bilbo had been copied in on most, but not all, and Balin on at least half. Bilbo and Dori were now playing an intricate game of ‘dealt with that; haven’t dealt with that – shall we do it now; we can’t respond to that yet – put it in that folder for later.’

It was time consuming, and a bit mind-boggling, but it was the best system they’d been able to devise to ensure nothing got missed. Even if it did mean Bilbo was phoning other members of the team every 5 seconds, just to check whether they’d already handled something.

He’d be sad to give this job back to Dís, even if he was ridiculously excited at the potential of the Junior Editor position.

Thorin watched the two of them carefully for a minute, then quirked a smile.

‘I’m not even going to try and get in the middle of that,’ he told them solemnly, ‘for fear of losing an arm. Or possibly my head. I’ll consider my inbox off-limits for the morning, shall I?’

‘Good idea,’ Bilbo and Dori chorused, before chuckling at each other.

‘Would anyone like a drink?’ Thorin asked, eyeing the absence of cups on Bilbo’s desk with some suspicion.

‘I like it when you grovel,’ Dori informed him. ‘You may continue to grovel indefinitely. Coffee, please.’

‘Yes, please, Thorin,’ Bilbo replied, not bothering to say what he wanted. Thorin would know, ‘and he’s not grovelling,’ he insisted to Dori under his breath. ‘There’s no need for grovelling, we decided last night.’

‘Shush,’ Dori commanded. ‘I’m getting drinks out of this. Don’t ruin it.’

‘You’re getting drinks out of my Balin-instilled good manners,’ Thorin called, sounding thoroughly amused. ‘Though I didn’t promise you’d get it hot, Dori.’

‘I know where _all_ the bodies are buried, Thorin,’ Dori shouted back. ‘All of them!’

‘That’s because I buried most of them,’ Nori jabbed as he wandered in, apparently drawn by the volume. He smirked at the wince on Dori’s face. ‘Good morning, Brother dear. Bilbo.’

‘Nori,’ Bilbo said, more gently than he usually would. Nori winced almost exactly the same way his brother did. Bilbo found it oddly charming.

‘Now, don’t start that,’ Nori said, almost desperately, hands up as if warding off evil. ‘You gave me a nice mystery to solve and I solved it. Don’t do… that,’ he waved his hand at Bilbo in demonstration.

Bilbo put his own hands up in surrender. Making someone uncomfortable was poor thanks, after all. Even if it was amusing.

‘Drinks on me tonight at the pub?’ he suggested, and Nori gave his widest shark-like grin.

‘Now you’re speaking my language,’ he agreed, dropping his arms back to his sides. ‘Not that I realised we were going to the pub, but who I am to argue with their Highnesses, the Princes of Durin?’ Everyone knew where a pub diktat usually came from. ‘I will see you later, in that case. I only came for this,’ he swiped one of the approved manuscripts off Bilbo’s desk and disappeared.

‘He came to check on me, didn’t he?’ Bilbo asked Dori lowly.

‘Of course he did,’ Dori said wryly, ‘but he’ll admit it under pain of death.’

***

Bilbo’s first email to Elros just said, **Thank you**.

Elros’ response, however, was, **I’m sorry**. Which was so patently ridiculous that Bilbo had to tell him so.

**Don’t be ridiculous** , he chided. **What do you have to be sorry for?**

**I didn’t see what he was up to** , Elros came back, sounding ashamed even via email. **I worked with him every day and didn’t notice**.

And, well, that was quite enough of that. Bilbo picked up the phone.

‘Good morning, Woodland Online, Elros speaking.’

‘Why on earth would I be mad because you believed the best of someone who pretended to be your friend?’ Bilbo asked with exasperation. Elros apparently choked on something.

‘Bilbo,’ he chided, ‘that wasn’t nice!’

‘No, probably not,’ Bilbo admitted. ‘I’m not, all the time. You, on the other hand, seem like you’re too nice for your own good, a lot of the time. It’s not natural for good people to be suspicious bastards, Elros. Most people take life at face value.’

Elros laughed a little bitterly. ‘Yes, and that’s what Galion relied on, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Me, being a gullible fool.’

‘ _Everyone_ being gullible fools,’ Bilbo objected. ‘I liked him too, up until he was pinning the whole thing on me and I was fairly sure it was him. Besides, I’ve heard what the others had to say. You didn’t think it was me for a second, did you? And you didn’t pause when they told you I’d accused Galion.’

‘Course not,’ Elros replied with certainty. ‘I liked him, but he was unreliable. I liked you more, and you didn’t strike me as the unreliable type.’

‘There we go, then,’ Bilbo said conclusively, sitting back in his chair and tapping one finger on the keyboard. ‘You trusted us both, but you trusted me more when it mattered. Nothing to apologise for. Now, we’ve got bigger problems to worry about. Thorin told me earlier that it’s going to be another few weeks before Dís comes back, and we need to keep him and Thranduil away from each other’s throats at least that long.’

Elros was quiet for just a moment, then there was a little breath on the end of the line, as if he was settling himself, and he responded in a conspiratorial tone, ‘Not a problem. I have a _plan_.’

***

5pm came and went with everyone still doggedly trying to catch up on both the work they should have done yesterday, and the additional enquiries that were still coming in about the merger. Then, at quarter to 6, Kíli appeared in Bilbo’s office looking terribly serious.

‘Throwing out time,’ he announced, loudly enough to be heard in Thorin’s office too. ‘Come on, computers off, people. This is a mutiny; the crew are going to the pub with or without the captain.’

It took only moments for Thorin to appear, one eyebrow raised at Kíli.

‘Do I allow mutinies?’ he asked mildly, arms once again crossed over his chest.

Bilbo’s stomach did a flip.

Bilbo told it to get a grip and act like a grown adult.

Kíli looked at Thorin like his general intelligence was in serious doubt. ‘Of course you don’t,’ he explained slowly. ‘It wouldn’t be a mutiny if it was _permitted_. Try to keep up, Uncle.’

‘Oh, I do apologise,’ Thorin said dryly. ‘It’s simply that I wasn’t aware I had you all chained to your desks with the threat of 50 lashes if you went home. I thought perhaps there were other rules I was also unaware of.’

Kíli rolled his eyes.

‘Irrelevant,’ he scorned. ‘ _We_ are all leaving and going to the pub. You workaholics can stay here, if you want… no, scratch that, you can’t. Refer to my earlier comments about computers off etc. Hurry up.’

Then he was off out the door again.

Thorin’s expression was utterly fond.

Bilbo started saving files and shutting down even as he looked at Thorin questioningly.

‘When Kíli started, I’d accidentally created a whole team of workaholics,’ Thorin told him briefly. ‘Dís and I stayed late, for one reason and another; Balin tended to stay late too. None of the others wanted to be seen leaving two hours earlier than the bosses every day. Kíli invented “throwing out time” to signal to them that it was perfectly alright to work 7.5 hours a day and no one was going to get into trouble. After all, if the boss’s nephew was doing it….’

Bilbo nodded, understanding the fond look. It was simple but clever, and very Kíli. Drawing all the attention loudly his way, so no one had to be seen as complaining about their hours, and solving a management problem for Thorin in the bargain without making him do anything except quietly approve.

‘You’d better go and switch off, then,’ Bilbo recommended, nodding towards Thorin’s office, and Thorin hastily complied. When they reached the main room, the whole group was gathered, a number of them pulling on jackets and coats and stowing ties in bags.

‘That’s everyone,’ Dori called. ‘Are we going to the Dragon, Kíli?’

‘Yeah, they’re holding the back room for us. Mum and Dwalin are meeting us there,’ Kíli called back, holding the door open now he was sure he had all his ducklings.

‘So are Glóin and Bombur,’ Bofur added, tugging Ori away from his desk as he spoke and pulling a pencil out of his hand. ‘No, love, put that down,’ he said gently. ‘You’re done with it, honest.’

‘But it’s not _right_ ,’ Ori complained, looking longingly back at whatever drawing was on his desk.

‘It bloody perfect, like everything you draw, Ori,’ Kíli said sternly. ‘You never think they’re right, and the clients always think they’re wonderful. Listen to Bofur. You know he has an eye for when they’re done.’

Ori opened his mouth to object again, and Thorin chuckled as he and Bilbo followed Ori and Bofur out the door.

‘Ori, I’ll check it in the morning,’ he said firmly. ‘Don’t worry about it anymore tonight. Boss’s orders.’

‘Fine,’ Ori conceded, pouting momentarily. He was distracted soon enough when Bofur spotted a tiny puppy across the road, so Bilbo had high hopes Thorin’s order would actually be followed.

The rest of the team spilled out behind them, Balin and Bifur coming last and making sure they were all locked up. The building was eerily quiet with most of the other occupants officially shut for the day. Not that Bilbo thought it was empty, by any means, but the place always felt a little deserted after 5pm. Especially when they trooped past May’s empty desk.

Of course, the pub was far from empty at 6pm, even on a weekday. Especially once all of Prospect spilled through its doors. The bar staff, who knew them of old, couldn’t wait to show them through to the back room. Dwalin and Dís were already there, drinks in hand, eyeing the general disorder with tolerant expressions.

‘Took you long enough,’ Dwalin grumbled, though he sounded mostly entertained, Bilbo thought. ‘More to life than work.’

‘ _Take it from an old man_ ,’ Kíli sang quietly, a gleam of mischief in his eye, and Dwalin half rose out of his seat in mock threat.

‘Boys,’ Dís warned, ‘let’s not start that in here again.’ When it seemed like Dwalin might ignore her just for the hell of it, she slid over and plonked herself square on his lap. Balin rolled his eyes and Fíli groaned, but they shared a conspiratorial grin over the pair’s heads.

Bilbo was concerned about that ‘again’, honestly, but he didn’t suppose there was anything he could do about it now. They hadn’t been banned for whatever had happened, clearly.

There was some jostling as seats were claimed and certain people were sent for drinks. Bilbo duly took Nori’s order, squeezing Nori’s shoulder gently when he noticed the other man hadn’t chosen his usual expensive beer tonight.

Thorin had orders for Fíli, Kíli, Ori and Balin. Bilbo gave him a rather sceptical look as they approached the bar.

‘Are you going to manage carrying all that back?’ he asked.

‘You’d be amazed how many drinks a person can actually carry if they put their mind to it,’ Thorin assured him. ‘Helps that none of them are fussy about how the stuff gets to the table, admittedly.’

Bilbo… had no idea what that meant, actually. Was Thorin planning to balance it on his head? (In fairness, Bilbo would pay to see that. He was almost hopeful.)

‘Oh, I meant to warn you,’ Thorin said abruptly, as they stood waiting for their drinks. ‘Dís has it in her head that you and your dad should come to us for Yule. She always makes a big fuss for the holiday, especially because we’re closed those two days. I think she’s planning to go all out this year, after everything that’s happened. If you’d rather not – she forgets other people have their own families and traditions – just tell me, and Dwalin and I will head her off.’

Bilbo stared at him.

‘Your sister wants me to bring my dad and come to yours for Yule?’ he asked slowly, perhaps a little disbelieving.

‘Yes,’ Thorin answered, equally slowly, clearly not sure why this was such a revolutionary idea. ‘You don’t have to, obviously. No one would blame you for wanting a peaceful family Yule instead of being surrounded by my bunch of maniacs. I realise you haven’t actually known us that long.’

_I don’t care_ , Bilbo thought, now he’d grasped the concept, heart leaping in front of his head. _Please let me come. We hated being alone at Yule. I want to be with you. He’d be so happy to be in the middle of a family again_.

Oh, Yavanna’s mercy, friends was going to be a nightmare. What foolish bout of denial had made him think it might not be so bad?

Bilbo had the worst, most hopeless crush on this man.

He adored Thorin’s family.

Keeping a friendly distance was going to be like ignoring an oasis in the middle of a desert.

_You have to, Bilbo_ , he reminded himself. _You’re not ignoring an oasis. You’re… testing a path in the mountains to be sure it won’t crumble beneath your weight. Rushing in headlong won’t help either of you_.

‘Let me talk to Dad first,’ Bilbo replied finally, aware he’d been silent a little too long. Thorin was looking worried and repeatedly running his hand in a nervous pattern over the bar. In fact, their drinks were now sitting on the bar and the barman was giving Bilbo a rather baleful look, so he moved to gather one in each hand. ‘It’s very generous of Dís. Dad might well prefer it to being at home with memories again. I’ll see what he thinks.’

Thorin, thankfully, seemed to understand when to let a subject drop. He just nodded and followed Bilbo back to the others.

Bilbo tried not to dwell upon the fact that Thorin could apparently hold three beers between his fingers, balance Balin’s vodka and coke on his palm without dropping it and hold his own drink in his other hand.

Bilbo had always thought his own hands were a perfectly normal size until then.

Bloody oversized Durins, making him feel like a midget.

***

Who’d decided they were going to move offices, and could Bilbo kill them?

His office was a bombsite. They apparently had paper files going back before Bilbo had been born, for reasons he couldn’t fathom. He’d spent the entire morning trying to get comfy on the carpeted floor when the carpet was a lot thinner than it looked.

And he kept finding things he had absolutely no explanation for.

‘What in the name of all the Valar is _this_ doing here?’ he exclaimed loudly, holding up the handheld bubble machine for Thorin, Dís, Balin and Dori to view.

‘OH!’ Fíli stopped in the corridor outside Bilbo’s office, where they’d congregated to try and make some sense of the paperwork nightmare, face lighting up happily. ‘I wondered where that had gone.’ When Bilbo eyed him disbelievingly, he grinned. ‘Don’t look at me like that, Bilbo. That’s a vital marketing tool you’re holding.’

‘Of course it is,’ Bilbo said wearily, eyeing the thing with great disfavour. Then he shoved it in Fíli’s direction. ‘Just take it away, will you?’

‘Yessir,’ Fíli agreed cheerfully. ‘Bye all. Bubbles in the car park later?’

‘He’s not mine!’ Dís announced once he was gone, before anyone could say anything. She’d been coming in for half-days to help with the relocation, and Bilbo found that the general professionalism of the office actually decreased when she was present (at least, as long as there were no clients around). He would… not have called that.

‘Yes, because he got the love of bubble machines from _Vili_ ,’ Balin replied dryly, not even bothering to look up from his latest pile of files.

Bilbo, confused, looked to Thorin for a clue.

‘Dís has a type,’ Thorin hinted.

Bilbo tried to imagine Dwalin with a bubble machine and understood exactly where Balin was coming from.

‘Oh, shut up, the lot of you,’ Dís muttered, brandishing a folder at them. ‘The unfortunate results of my child-rearing are not the main problem here. Thorin, did we budget for all the shredding we’re going to need to get rid of this crap? _Why_ didn’t we do this when Thror died and we could finally do something about the hoarding?’

‘We were just a little busy at the time,’ Thorin pointed out.

‘And afterwards?’ Dís demanded irritably, glaring at the folder as if it was personally responsible. ‘Now look at the bloody mess we’re in.’

‘There was always something better to do, wasn’t there?’ Thorin snapped. ‘I don’t know why you’re ripping my head off; admin’s your job, not mine.’

‘Whoa, alright, fighting about it isn’t going to make the evil paper disappear,’ Bilbo hastened to interject, hand immediately going to Thorin’s arm. Thorin subsided, thankfully, and Dís seemed to simmer down as well.

Balin had warned him they tended to flare up and then calm quickly, but this was Bilbo’s first time seeing it.

That must make for an exciting working dynamic. Bilbo had thought _his_ time as Thorin’s PA had been lively.

‘We just need a simple set of rules,’ Dori said calmly. Bilbo loved Dori. The man did not get paid enough. ‘Things we need to keep versus things we don’t. Anything over a certain age gets thrown. Anything younger stays. Then we get a lot of shredding bags and go to town. It’ll be fine.’

‘I’m fairly sure that’s age discrimination,’ Thorin said jokingly, and Dís snorted with amusement, nudging him in the side companionably.

‘Break first?’ Balin suggested.

‘Oh yes,’ Bilbo pleaded. ‘I’m losing all feeling in my… legs.’

‘That is _not_ what you were going to say,’ Dís laughed, and Bilbo shushed her even as Thorin pulled him upright with a knowing smirk.

‘Did you see that they’re bringing out a tv adaptation of The Children of Húrin?’ Thorin asked Bilbo as they navigated the stacked files to reach the kitchen. Dís followed them, clearly also in search of a drink. Balin and Dori disappeared in the direction of the main office.

‘No,’ Bilbo replied curiously. ‘Does it look any good? Do they have someone suitably dramatic-looking to play Túrin?’

‘ _You_ have an obsession,’ Thorin informed him archly.

‘You’re the one who brought it up!’ Bilbo protested. He moved to start preparing drinks, but Dís gently nudged him out of the way and he let her. He wouldn’t mind being lazy for once. One arm was still tingling from being leaned on. ‘Besides, I always much preferred poor Beleg. If ever there was an underdog, it was that elf.’

‘Don’t tell me, you also watched that documentary a few years back where they examined how much of Beleg’s life was fact and fiction,’ Dís interjected knowingly. ‘This one,’ she tapped Thorin’s waist, ‘was all excited for weeks before it came on. He checked it was set up to record about three times. He and Dwalin and the boys had a watching party with pizza. I am _surrounded_ by literary nerds,’ she sighed.

‘Intelligent people,’ Thorin countered. ‘The phrase you’re looking for is intelligent people.’

‘I missed it,’ Bilbo told them regretfully. ‘I was… distracted. Didn’t hear about it until it was over, couldn’t get it anywhere. I thought it would at least be on YouTube but apparently literary documentaries aren’t the sort of thing that get uploaded. Who knew?’

Thorin grinned widely.

‘We can fix that,’ he said proudly. ‘The literary nerds still have it,’ he was virtually sticking his tongue out at Dís, his tone was so smug. Bilbo tried very hard not to laugh. ‘Come over one night, I’ll see if the boys want to come too. They won’t mind seeing it again. Kíli has opinions about Beleg and Túrin and heroism.’

‘None of which he learnt from you,’ Dís commented idly, apparently trying to will the kettle to work faster with the power of her mind. Thorin ignored her. ‘You had best invite Dwalin as well, Thorin. I’m not going to put up with him sulking all night because he was left out.’

‘Dwalin’s into literature?’ Bilbo asked, brain finally catching up with Dís’s earlier comments about their watching party.

‘Dwalin is into stories about battles and heroes and all that nonsense,’ Dís circled her arms to encompass a host of things she apparently cared very little for, nearly upsetting the cups on the counter. ‘Great chivalrous idiot,’ she sounded absolutely adoring. ‘Between him and Thorin, my poor sons didn’t stand a chance.’

‘Yes, they turned into kind, brave gentlemen with good careers. How dare we?’ Thorin shot back. Dís rolled her eyes but didn’t retort. Thorin appeared to consider that as good as victory. ‘Bilbo, did you want to come over?’

‘Yes, definitely,’ Bilbo said immediately, accepting his drink from Dís gratefully. ‘I can’t wait.’

He really couldn’t. It had been years since he’d had someone he could discuss such things with easily. In recent years, it had either been part of his course (and he’d found himself watching each word to ensure it was well-judged) or it was with people who weren’t truly interested (and he’d been all-too-conscious of their eyes glazing over).

This new life had more benefits than he’d realised.

***

‘Elros,’ Legolas crooned persuasively, sliding down to sit next to the crumpled ball his PA had become on the office floor.

‘No,’ the ball said firmly.

As firmly as it could, with its head in its arms and its voice completely muffled.

‘Dearest, you can’t stay here tonight,’ Legolas said reasonably. ‘It’s an office.’

‘Tough,’ the ball replied. Oh dear. Monosyllables and a complete lack of logic. That never boded well.

‘I realise the move was a little more stressful than we expected,’ Legolas began.

Ah. Well, that got him moving.

‘A little?’ Elros’ head came upright, seemingly with great effort, and he gave Legolas a Force 9 glare (Force 10 was reserved for ‘you ruined the schedule and didn’t bring me tea to apologise’). ‘A _little_! Look at all those boxes; half of them have completely unhelpful labelling, which meant the removal men didn’t know where they needed to go. That was the fault of your staff, a chunk of whom chose today of all days to work from home, the fucking lazy sods. Those things,’ he pointed in another direction, ‘were meant to be packed by 5pm last night and were just sitting on their desks. I had to pack it all myself or leave it behind. I had a perfectly good system, and everybody ignored it! Look at the mess in here,’ he moaned, head falling back into his hands.

‘A mess I will be speaking to our staff about tomorrow morning.’

Legolas and Elros both turned to see Thranduil approaching, looking like a particularly fast-moving glacier. That was his ‘not happy’ face if ever Legolas had seen it.

‘I think they will discover,’ Thranduil concluded, ‘that part of their yearly bonus criteria includes the ability to follow basic instructions and not cause their colleagues extra work for no good reason. A good number of them have just failed that section. I am satisfied each of them is very good at their jobs. I am less satisfied that we are prepared to work in conjunction with Prospect as a team, given that teamwork within our own office seems to be much poorer. Legolas, we need to discuss tonight how we handle that.’

‘Yes, Father, of course,’ Legolas concurred. It was disheartening, but not unexpected. There’d been a reason they’d needed a deal with another publisher even as online publishing boomed, and it had a great deal to do with improving working practices and pulling in expertise. Galion hadn’t been the only one who didn’t like it. He was just the only one stupid enough to blatantly do something about it.

There was a slight jangling as the front door of the office was pushed open, and they looked up to see two of Thorin’s staff entering. The two appeared as startled to run into them as they were to see others at this time of day.

‘Oh,’ the IT Officer, Bofur, said. ‘Sorry, didn’t think anyone would still be here. Bifur and I just came to check on the IT setup before tomorrow,’ which was Prospect’s moving-in day.

‘Of course,’ Thranduil acknowledged. ‘I’m afraid we’ve been a bit delayed, so it’s not as cleared up as we’d like.’

‘Not a problem,’ and Bofur smiled widely. Mostly at Elros, Legolas noticed, as if he knew who needed the reassurance most. ‘You should see what our place looks like at the moment. Dori’s keeping order through sheer willpower and a _lot_ of lists.’

‘I had lists,’ Elros said mournfully, though so quietly Legolas wasn’t sure that anyone else would hear him. As always when Elros sounded sad, Legolas just wanted to hug him.

‘We’ll just do our thing,’ Bofur assured them. ‘Don’t mind us.’

At that, Elros began to haul himself to his feet. ‘I should finish up,’ he sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. Legolas would never tell him how much he looked like a tired child.

‘You most certainly should not,’ Thranduil said irritably, even as the others moved away. ‘They are not children and you are not their mother. They can sort their own belongings out.’

‘I can’t leave boxes piled up like this, Thranduil,’ Elros argued. ‘Some of them are in front of other people’s desks,’ he gestured minutely at Bofur and Bifur, to indicate the Prospect staff. Thranduil looked furious again.

Legolas glanced over at the office’s other occupants again and noticed that they were apparently having an in-depth discussion about something. As usual, Bofur appeared to be doing most of the talking, but Bifur was nodding sharply at intervals.

Then he peeled off and headed back towards the Woodland team. When he reached them, he looked at Elros and smiled.

‘Put me to work,’ he offered, pointing at the stacked boxes to illustrate his point. ‘Bofur doesn’t really need me for this. I only came along to keep him company. Might as well make myself useful.’

‘Oh, you don’t have to…,’ Elros protested, flustered. Bifur shook his head and gave a smile near as sweet as his relative’s. Legolas realised it was the first full smile he’d seen on the man’s face.

‘Rule number one this week has been, “Do what Dori and Bilbo tell you.” Bofur made a very good argument for that extending to our new King of Admin too. Besides,’ and he gave Elros a knowing look, ‘no one sits on these floors unless they’re knackered. Sooner we get it done, sooner you can go home.’

Elros looked a bit wobbly for a second, the way he often did when people were unexpectedly nice to him, then just grateful.

‘Thank you,’ he said simply. ‘The one on the top goes over there. Can you…?’

‘Got it,’ Bifur confirmed, and headed over to grab the box up.

‘Next one?’ Thranduil asked Elros, who eyed him with some surprise but then pointed out its place. Thranduil collected it up and had it moved in short order. Legolas left them to it and tidied some of the other assorted nonsense that had been left around the office, which he knew would be driving Elros up the wall.

As he did so, he eyed Bofur closely, a suspicion growing, and had it half-confirmed when the other man looked at Elros and grinned to see him more relaxed.

So, they had a fixer on the team. One with a soft spot for Legolas’ favourite colleague.

That was something to keep an eye on.

***

Bilbo had expected his interview to be really uncomfortable. How could it be anything but? He knew the interview panel. He’d been working intimately with one of them for months.

Thorin, at least, had recused himself because he couldn’t possibly be objective in this situation.

That still left Bilbo trying to convince Kíli and Legolas to hire him. They’d deliberately kept his contact with Legolas fairly minimal in recent weeks, but he could hardly have minimal contact with Kíli. Not unless he avoided the main office, failed to deal with a good chunk of Thorin’s business and isolated himself from the team.

So here he was. Sitting just outside Legolas’ office in the new building, feeling like everyone was watching him.

His insides were squirming. It was worse than asking someone out on a date.

He didn’t care as much about the outcome then.

‘Bilbo, do you want to join us?’ Kíli asked, stepping out and inviting him in.

Legolas rose as he entered, shook his hand and offered him a seat and some water. Then, once Bilbo had taken his seat, Kíli spoke again.

‘This is going to be a lot easier if we all acknowledge before we get started that it feels a little odd, I think,’ he said practically. ‘We’re going to ask you all the same questions as the other candidates, Bilbo, obviously. We’re _not_ going to pretend we’ve never met you before. That would just feel unnatural. Answer honestly and completely, we’ll stick to the questions, and we’ll all manage.’

It was kind, but brisk and professional, and Bilbo felt at ease at once. As much as he ever did at an interview.

He could do this.

***

‘Dad?’

‘Bilbo!’ Bungo replied excitedly, and it sounded as if he was almost bouncing at the other end. ‘Have you heard?’

‘Yes…,’ Bilbo dragged it out, but he was smiling so widely that he was sure Dad could hear it down the phone. ‘I got it.’

Dad whooped at the other end, probably the most enthusiasm he’d shown about anything since Mum died, and it was the perfect seal on a perfect day.

‘I knew it. I knew you would,’ he gloated. ‘You’ll be wonderful, Bilbo, I’m so excited for you.’

‘I’m rather excited for me, too,’ Bilbo teased. ‘Kíli warned that I probably wouldn’t see much difference in pay, to begin with, but that’s because I get an actual pension,’ he snorted. ‘I’m excited about pensions. I really am old.’

‘Wait until you’ve been working twenty years, dear. That pension will be the most thrilling thing in your life,’ Dad said wisely. ‘You’ll see.’

‘Cynic,’ Bilbo accused. Dad didn’t deign to respond.

‘I’ve been thinking about that invitation, Bilbo,’ he said instead, and Bilbo was immediately paying full attention.

‘Oh yes?’ he asked, trying to sound casual.

‘Hmm,’ Dad replied slowly. ‘I’m not sure…’

‘ _Dad_ ,’ Bilbo complained, knowing damn well he was being wound up. He suspected it was only the fact that he was having such a good day that got him a respite.

‘Yes, Bilbo, I’d love to go, as long as we haven’t left it too late.’

‘I’ll check with Thorin,’ Bilbo promised, ‘but from the sound of it Dís and Dwalin don’t understand the concept of under-catering, so we should be fine.’

‘Perfect,’ Dad said, sounding thoroughly satisfied. ‘It’ll be good to have a holiday that isn’t just us rattling around, won’t it?’

‘Yes,’ Bilbo agreed. ‘Yes, it will.’

***

Though, admittedly, Bilbo would occasionally give a great deal for some time when he wasn’t surrounded by half a dozen people and was, perhaps, just in company with one or two others.

Mostly one.

‘She’s driving me insane,’ Bilbo complained to Thorin irritably, leaning against him on Thorin’s sofa without really realising he was doing it. The documentary on Beleg was ready to play on the screen, but Dwalin and the boys were faffing in the kitchen, so Bilbo was enjoying a few moments just to chat with his friend.

It didn’t feel like they got to do it enough now that Bilbo was in his new job. They saw each other, of course, but always in group outings – often at the pub after work, when everything was constantly chaos.

‘I thought the manuscript was a fairly good one?’ Thorin asked, concerned. ‘You seemed excited about it when you and Kíli did the first readthrough.’

‘It was,’ Bilbo confirmed. ‘It is,’ he acknowledged, ‘but nothing’s perfect on the first draft, is it? There are some plotholes I’ve highlighted and grammatical errors that definitely need to be dealt with. Her response: no, it’s fine the way it is, thank you, _Junior Editor_.’

‘Oh dear, already one black mark on the book,’ Thorin murmured.

‘What are we talking about?’ Kíli asked brightly, bouncing over the back of the sofa. Thorin jumped and grumbled, shoving at Kíli irritably.

‘Don’t do that, menace,’ he ordered. Kíli looked confused.

‘I always do that,’ he pointed out, then obviously decided to drop it. ‘Are we talking about Bilbo’s first silly author? We’re about to do a classic Durin manoeuvre on her.’

‘This has a name?’ Bilbo queried, though he was still distinctly disgruntled by Kíli’s arrival. ‘You didn’t tell me it had a name.’

‘It’s not an official name, I suppose,’ Kíli confessed. ‘I just started thinking of it that way because I found it funny how many people would take from Durin Senior,’ he poked Thorin, ‘what they wouldn’t from Durin Junior,’ he gestured to himself. ‘So, the Durin manoeuvre. I edit it, I send it to them. They kick up a fuss, because what does a _baby_ know about editing their precious manuscript. I send my edits to Uncle, who sends them straight on to the client again. If they accept the edits, they get a second chance along with a strongly worded email from Uncle telling them not to be daft, pointing out what they’ve just done and expressing his full confidence in his entire team. If they reject the edits again, we drop them because they’re wasting our time. Only in this situation, you’re me and I’m Uncle.’

‘Perish the thought,’ Thorin muttered. Kíli stuck his tongue out at him.

‘The world has such an endless supply of stupid people,’ Fíli sighed, arriving with Dwalin and the pizza, which must have been delivered while Bilbo was complaining. ‘It’s really very disheartening.’

‘Don’t be so dour,’ Dwalin told him, slumping into a seat and sticking the pizza boxes on one end of the coffee table. ‘You’ll turn into me. Besides, for every idiot you get a Faramir.’ Fíli brightened immediately. It was no secret that Faramir was everyone’s favourite client, mostly because he was so easy-going about everything and treated Ori like he was a treasure sent by the Valar.

Bilbo suspected Kíli might have been jealous, except Faramir was married with a small child.

‘Now, are we watching this programme or not?’ Dwalin asked them, reaching for the control.

‘Pizza first,’ Bilbo commanded. ‘Don’t think I missed you putting the pizza where short people can’t reach it, Dwalin.’

Dwalin smirked at him, eyeing the position of the pizza, and Bilbo realised he _could_ reach it, if he was willing to climb halfway across Thorin to get it.

Sweet Yavanna, group events were definitely dropping to the bottom of his list of things to do.

***

‘Come in, come in,’ Dís practically sang, sounding more like Kíli than ever. ‘Here, let me take your coats. You must be Bungo!’

‘I am, yes,’ Bungo said, already thoroughly amused. ‘You must be Dís.’

‘How could you tell?’ Dwalin asked, half-emerging from the living room door, clearly laughing at his thoroughly over-excited partner. ‘I apologise in advance. I made the mistake of feeding them pancakes with chocolate sauce for breakfast. Certain members of the household have been bouncing off the ceiling ever since.’

‘Bilbo!’ two voices yelled, as the boys came hurtling down the stairs.

‘I probably don’t get a prize for guessing who else he’s talking about, do I?’ Bungo asked Bilbo quietly, and Bilbo cracked up laughing even as he braced himself.

‘Yes, yes, I’m here. Oomph,’ braced or not, Bilbo nearly went down in a flurry of arms and legs, and he jabbed at Fíli until he had some room. ‘Off, you two, can’t breathe.’

‘Mahal, it’s like we raised a pair of wolves,’ said a most welcome voice. ‘Fíli, Kíli, off. Honestly, we all know you’re adults. Yule is not a reason to revert completely to being 5-year-olds.’

‘It’s more fun when we do, you know it is,’ Fíli argued, though the mischievous glint in his eyes said he was only teasing, and Bilbo knew the enthusiastic greeting would be the worst of it.

‘Why don’t we all move out of the hall and try one of the many rooms with actual seats, hmm?’ Balin suggested, appearing just behind Thorin and Dwalin in the living room doorway. He disappeared again almost immediately but, as so often happened, Balin’s wish was their command. In short order, Bilbo and Bungo had their shoes off and the whole group had made themselves comfortable in the living room with drinks.

Fíli had to sit on the floor so they’d all fit, with Kíli on the coffee table, but it didn’t seem to inconvenience either of them much.

‘Bungo, it’s good to finally meet you,’ Thorin greeted. ‘I’d like to say we’re not usually like this, but…’

‘I wouldn’t believe you,’ Bungo informed him. ‘Bilbo told me about his first visit.’ There was a mix of laughter and shuddering (mostly from Kíli, who was likely remembering his unsuccessful escape from Dwalin). ‘I’ve spent a lot of time with my neighbours, the Gamgees, in the last year or two. They have six children. I promise, I’m a lot more used to antics than I used to be.’

‘Antics we can most certainly provide,’ Dís promised. ‘Also enough food for a small army, plenty of mulled wine, and some gifts. Probably with musical accompaniment, whether we like it or not.’

Kíli perked up. Fíli clapped a hand over his mouth.

‘Your brother is really a very good singer,’ Bilbo scolded Fíli firmly, and Fíli reluctantly took his hand away.

‘ _Not_ that same bloody song you’ve been singing since yesterday morning,’ he begged, and Kíli shrugged ruefully.

‘It got stuck in my head,’ he admitted. ‘I didn’t realise I was singing it that often. Sorry. I’ll find something else for later.’

Dís began to ask Bungo about work and the run-up to Yule, with Balin joining in fairly swiftly. Dwalin disappeared to check on the food. Kíli apparently got a text from Ori that he needed to show to Fíli, and they became engrossed in his phone.

Thorin quietly edged around the room to sit on the arm of Bilbo’s chair and smiled down at him, flicking at the front of his (very classy) Yule jumper.

‘Penguins, Bilbo?’ he asked playfully.

‘Penguins are my spirit animal,’ Bilbo informed him with mock severity. ‘Often small, have devoted parents, completely ungainly on land, tend to look utterly ridiculous during adolescence, and have you ever seen their attempts at dancing?’

Thorin looked up at the ceiling and bit his lip, repressing laughter with great difficulty. The hand that had tugged Bilbo’s jumper splayed across his chest, apparently unconsciously. When Thorin had controlled himself, he looked back down again.

‘They’re also…’ he started. At exactly the same moment, Dís called, ‘Thorin, what was the name of that Creative Writing programme you signed the boys up for when they were younger?’

Thorin quite clearly took a deep breath.

‘Galadriel’s Mirror,’ he replied, very patiently. Then, when Dís turned back to her conversation, he grabbed Bilbo’s hand gently and tugged him up and out of the room.

As soon as they were in the hallway, Thorin looked down at Bilbo and blurted out, ‘Bilbo, will you please go on a date with me so I can speak to you for more than two minutes without someone interrupting?’

‘Yes,’ Bilbo responded immediately, not even stopping to think. He’d realised, over the last few weeks, that he really did trust Thorin despite his worries after the Galion incident. It was Thorin he turned to first for support and advice. It was Thorin’s company he wanted all the time, and Thorin never failed to make him laugh. Bilbo had needed the time to be sure, but he was tired of having it now. He just wanted Thorin.

When Thorin looked a little startled at his easy acquiescence, Bilbo reached up tentatively and slid his arms round him in a hug. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he confessed quietly. ‘It sounds ridiculous, you’re right there, but I miss you.’

‘Me too,’ Thorin murmured back, wasting no time in gathering Bilbo close. ‘I know we didn’t do this very well last time, but no one does relationships perfectly. We’ll just have to keep trying. Keep talking, this time.’

‘I know,’ Bilbo said softly. ‘Let’s make talking Plan A, hmm? Our family bashing us over the head can be Plan B.’

Thorin laughed, then tilted Bilbo’s head up and, after a questioning look that Bilbo returned with a nod, leaned down to kiss him.

Bilbo sighed into it, stretching up just a little and closing his eyes.

Here in this house, surrounded by these people, it was all so easy.

Everything about it felt like being home.

***

‘ _You_ look smug,’ Kíli told Fíli, looking up from his phone as Fíli returned to sit next to him on their favourite rug in the living room.

‘I do, don’t I?’ Fíli answered, tone and bearing just radiating satisfaction. Kíli looked around and spotted that Uncle and Bilbo were now also missing.

‘Oh,’ he said softly. ‘ _Oh!_ It worked?’

‘It did indeed,’ Fíli smiled, lying back so he was stretched out on the floor, aiming his grin at the ceiling. ‘Everything is back the way it should be.’

‘Fíli Durin, what have you been up to?’ Mum scolded suspiciously as she caught sight of him. She was giving him her patented, _I had better like the answer to this question, child_ look.

‘Very little,’ Fíli replied. He pulled himself upright and gazed at her seriously, making sure she could see his sincerity. ‘Honestly, Mum, that was the key to the whole thing. Doing very little except what we’d normally do, which meant they,’ he motioned at the hallway, ‘had very little time together.’

Mum shook her head at him, but Kíli could see she understood what Fíli meant. To give Uncle and Bilbo time together, they’d have had to _change_ their behaviour.

So they hadn’t.

And, as expected, it had driven the besotted pair slowly insane.

Seconds later, Uncle and Bilbo re-entered the room, holding hands and looking a little dishevelled.

Et voila.

Plan: successful.

Fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading!
> 
> At this point I always ask: even if you haven't up to now, please consider leaving a comment at this point. Writing is a big commitment of free time for me and I spend one day of my weekend on each chapter. A comment will probably take you less than that... and comments are what I, personally, get out of this experience. I understand not everyone knows what to say, but I'm not judging! I'll appreciate whatever you think of, including 'I liked it.' :D
> 
> For anyone who's interested: I'll take a writing break now, as I always do after finishing a story. Usually a month or two. I may then write one or two one-shots for _A Time for Home_ , which I've meant to do for a while. My next story after that may not be in Hobbit fandom. I have some other ideas I'd like to try and it'd be fun (if scary) to write one of them. If that's the case, I hope some of you will still read anyway!


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